


i felt in my fingertips (you know that i'm a mess)

by millsx



Category: One Direction
Genre: Cute, F/M, Fluff, Fluffy, Gym AU, Happy Ending, Long haired Harry, M/M, Mentions of Anxiety, No Angst, Romance, Vacation, blind date gone wrong, larry - Freeform, larry au, larry stylinson - Freeform, lots of fluff, mentions of sleep problems, mentions of stress, no major plot lol, or very right, promp-based, something to calm your crippling anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25073650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millsx/pseuds/millsx
Summary: Louis stops in his tracks when he sees a guy that seems somewhat familiar getting out of a car on the opposite site of the street.“Oi!” He calls over, hoping to catch his attention.The other guy turns around, and Louis was right. It’s Harry from the gym. Cute Harold of the Pippi Longstocking braids and absolutely adorable dimples. This might be an interesting night.Or, the one where Louis is quite a mess, Harry likes to braid his hair and Niall sucks at matchmaking in the best way possible.
Relationships: Larry Stylinson, Louis Tomlinson/Harry Styles, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne, Ziam Mayne
Comments: 5
Kudos: 122





	i felt in my fingertips (you know that i'm a mess)

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys!  
> I got this idea that Harry always wears braids because of that one hairstyle he once wore (you all know which one I'm talking about) and then I watched an episode of queer eye where someone owned a gym and tadaaa this Harry was born. The plot of this fic is based on a prompt I read on Tumblr but I sadly can't find it anymore.  
> Anyway, I hope you're all doing well!!  
> mills xx

There’s a groan and then a thud when Louis sets down the dumbbells in front of his feet. He’s sweaty, and his muscles are burning, and his legs are starting to feel heavy. 

“Giving up already, Tommo?” Niall asks and smacks Louis’ shoulder. He’s so exhausted, the slight push almost topples him over. God, he hates working out. 

He flips Niall off over his shoulder before wiping away the sweat that has accumulated on his eyebrows with the back of his hand and lifts the weights up again. Alright, he can do this. 

He’s finishing off his workout on a treadmill, running fast enough for his breathing to go heavy and his hamstrings to burn, when he spots Pippi Longstocking coming out of one of the secluded rooms, shirt wet with sweat and clinging to his back. Today, his hair is braided into two French braids, but a few curls have escaped them and are now plastered to Pippi’s shiny forehead. 

Well, the guy barely resembles Pippi Longstocking but Louis doesn’t know his actual name, so the hero of his childhood has to suffice. He’s tall and lean, and his hair is anything but red, more chocolate brown and even though any other guy would look ridiculous with this hairstyle, he doesn’t. It’s kind of badass and undeniably hot. 

Louis would never admit it but seeing him makes his regular trips to the gym more bearable. He’s made some sort of hobby of it, and funnily enough, the guy is basically always there when Louis is too. 

Longstocking looks up from where he’d been talking to someone Louis has never seen here before and catches his eye, slightly raising a brow. The regular, dull sound of Louis’ trainers hitting the treadmill ceases when he trips over his own feet and almost falls flat on his face. He barely manages to get a grip of the armrests, catching himself. 

“You alright there, mate?” Niall asks breathlessly from the treadmill next to him the moment Louis looks up again, cheeks burning red, only to find Longstocking trying to hide a bemused grin by biting down on his lower lip. He fails miserably. 

“Yeah, yeah. Just tripped, that’s all,” Louis mumbles and steps off the treadmill. He’s done for today. 

The hot water of the shower hits Louis’ shoulders, causing the skin there to flush. He can feel the tenseness being washed away with the gym-supplied shower gel and shampoo that both smell surprisingly good. Like eucalyptus and white sage, but not too dominantly. Whoever picked that has good taste, Louis admits. Or smell. He snickers to himself, fully aware of the fact that it’s not the tiniest bit funny. 

“Tommo, do you wanna grab something to eat on the way back?” Niall pounds against the door of Louis’ shower. 

He turns the water off, groaning, “Can’t a man shower in peace for once?” 

“No, he can’t. So, what’s it gonna be? Yes? No?” His voice sounds through the door as Louis dries off his hair before he wraps himself with the towel. 

When he steps out of the shower cubicle, Niall’s already dressed again, only his damp fringe letting on that he took a shower as well. 

“Don’t think so. I’m knackered,” he admits and puts on his shirt. He missed a spot on his back when toweling off, and now it sticks to that spot, much to his dismay. 

“But I’m hungry,” Niall whines. 

“Go alone, then. My bed is waiting for me at home and I still got leftovers from yesterday,” he says, wrangling himself into his skinny jeans. Jesus, next time he’ll bring a pair of sweats to put on after working out. 

“You’re no fun, Tomlinson.” 

They head out of the dressing room together and walk past the counter in the front, where Longstocking is chatting to an employee. Louis does his best not to look at him, his glorious fall on the treadmill still replaying inside of his head. 

“Alright, then. See you tomorrow,” Niall waves goodbye and heads to his car, leaving Louis to do the same. 

The thing is, between working at the same firm and going to the gym together and being best friends in general, there aren’t many hours a day Louis _doesn’t_ spend with Niall. And as much as he loves him, he can be sort of exhausting, especially on days like this, when the weather is shitty, and Louis barely slept at all during the night. 

But tonight, his bed is warm, and his legs are just the right amount of sore and heavy, and he slides into a deep sleep like it’s his favorite hoodie on a chilly day. 

*** 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a workaholic?” Niall asks two weeks later. They’re back at the gym, and Louis is drowning in the soft fabric of a too large sweatshirt. It’s comfortable, especially after showering. 

“I was just checking my e-mails while waiting for you, relax,” he snorts in response, pocketing his phone again. 

“’M just saying,” he argues. 

Louis gets up from the bench in front of the dressing room he’d been sitting on as he was waiting and shoulders his backpack. He follows Niall down the hall toward the entry, barely listening to what he is talking about. 

His voice fades even more into the background when he spots Longstocking again and – really, he needs to think of a better name. He’s leaning against the wall, boxing gloves gripped tight in his left hand as he talks to someone Louis doesn’t know. His hair is in a single, tight Dutch braid that just reaches to the point between his shoulder blades. 

And, he’s probably imagining things, but there’s this vibe he gets. That he might not be straight, maybe. And it’s not only the braided hair, he thinks. It’s likely just wishful thinking, but. 

“So, is it a yes or a no?” Niall voice filters through his thoughts, and Louis snaps his gaze away from Longstocking and to his best friend. 

“What?” He asks, frowning. He didn’t hear a word of what he said. 

“Actually,” Niall pauses, “Nevermind. I’m doing it either way.”

“You’re doing what now?” 

“Setting you up on a date. You need a little fun in your life” 

Louis stifles a groan and runs a hand through his still wet hair. “You’re not doing that, Horan. All your set-ups fail horribly. Remember when you made me go out with that Ethan guy? He talked about his teeth for ten minutes and only ate white food. And when you found that ‘perfect’ guy for Lilly from work? Who turned out to be married?”

Honestly, Niall is the worst matchmaker walking the planet earth.

But he isn’t listening to him anymore, instead waving at Longstocking, who raises a hand in response and offers Niall a bright smile. And it’s unfair. Because, not only does he look good with plaited hair, but he also flashes a cute set of dimples now. Louis wants to die a little. 

“You know him?” He asks and tries to come off as casual in an attempt to hide his little crush or whatever it is. 

“Yeah,” Niall nods, “I designed something for Harry about a year ago.” 

Harry, huh. Seems like Longstocking has served its purpose as a fill-in name. Louis can’t help but wonder if it’s short for something. Like, Harold. Or Harrison. He decides that he likes Harold better, Harrison sounds like a drag from a real estate law firm. 

*** 

“This is ridiculous,” Louis mutters to himself as he fusses with his fringe in the bathroom mirror. It really is. He’s squeezed himself into his favorite skinny jeans and put on a stainless, red sweatshirt that actually makes him look somewhat presentable, but for what? 

It’s not bad enough that Niall insisted on setting him up, no, that fucker also felt the need to make it a _blind date_. Which, Louis can’t even start with all the reasons why it’s a bad idea. 

And adding on to all that misery, he’s also refusing to actually tell Louis the name of his date. Niall only repeatedly insisted that, yes, Louis would definitely know him and therefore recognize him as his date. That is slightly problematic, too. As far as Louis is concerned, Niall is straight as a popsicle stick and does not know Louis’ type whatsoever. Assuming the date will go badly, he’s set for awkward run-ins. 

A glance to his phone tells Louis that he’s already a little late, so he just leaves his hair be and grabs his black jean jacket on his way out, stuffing his keys, phone and wallet into its pockets. 

The restaurant he’s supposed to meet at is only around the corner from his own apartment, and it’s his least favorite place to eat. Technically, there’s nothing wrong with it, but the staff isn’t exactly friendly, and the pizzas are too greasy and the faux leather pads of the chair squeak whenever someone moves. Sure, it’s a great place to get food when you’re drunk off your arse on the way home from the pub, but other than that, Louis prefers to avoid it. 

He stops in his tracks when he sees a guy that seems somewhat familiar getting out of a car on the opposite site of the street. 

“Oi!” He calls over, hoping to catch his attention. 

The other guy turns around, and Louis was right. It’s Harry from the gym. Cute Harold of the Pippi Longstocking braids and absolutely adorable dimples. This might be an interesting night. 

“Oh, hi,” Harry says, “Didn’t expect to see you here. You’re Louis, right?” 

And. How does he know his name? He even pronounces it the right way. They’ve never been introduced to each other, Louis’s just been ogling him from across the gym for the past two months. There really is no way, unless – he wants to kiss Niall. Maybe he’s been a little too quick in judging him. 

“Yeah,” he tries to smile authentically, but he knows it’s a little crooked from being nervous. “One of my friends set me up for a blind date, so,” he drawls out, wiping his hand on his jeans. 

“Huh. Me too.” 

Louis feels like he’s won the lottery. Seems like he might have a nice evening after all. If he doesn’t fuck up monumentally, that is. 

“Wanna go some place else? I kind of don’t like it here,” he suggests and points to the entryway, painfully aware of how awkward the distance between him and Harry is. 

“Lead the way,” Harry says, smiling. He pushes himself off his car and joins Louis on the sidewalk as he heads down the street. 

“Do you like burgers? There’s this really good diner two blocks away. I think they have some sort of Mexican food, too,” he asks, his stomach already churning at the mere thought of burgers. God, he’s hungry. 

“I didn’t know you eat burgers,” Harry blurts. 

“What? Everyone likes burgers,” he frowns. 

“No, I mean. I didn’t think you would. Because, you know, you’re at the gym like six days a week and most people that work out that often also eat super clean,” he explains and runs a hand through his hair. 

Which is when Louis notices that it’s not in a braid for once, not even in a bun or ponytail. His curls bounce right back into their position, framing Harry’s face, as soon as he pulls his hand out and it’s really unfair how it blurs the edges of his jawline, making him look younger, somehow. 

Jesus, he needs to get a grip and stop staring. 

“Oh. Well, I don’t work out to get super shredded, so,” he shrugs, “But we can go somewhere else if you want.” 

“No, it’s alright,” he smiles, just enough for his dimples to show. “Why do you work out, then?” 

This is okay. He can handle this. Talking gym and working out doesn’t lead into dangerous waters. 

There’s a breeze, and Harry comes a little closer to him as they keep on walking. 

“I’m kind of a high stress person, I guess, and working out helps to get my thoughts in order,” he explains. It’s only partly the truth. To be blunt, working out is the only way to get his brain to fall asleep some nights. He has to feel like there’ s not a single molecule of energy left in his body in order to convince his brain to shut off for at least six hours. 

“A lot of people do that,” he nods, “You should try Pilates or yoga. It helps me whenever I’m stressed.” 

Louis snorts, “I’m good, thanks.” 

For a second, he’s afraid that he offended Harry and somehow messed everything up before they even got to the diner, but he just shrugs, the corner of his mouth tugs upwards. 

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” 

“Right. What made you try it?” 

They round the last corner, now upfront to the diner. It’s fairly empty for a Sunday night, Louis’ favorite booth in the left corner vacant when they enter. This might be the best day of his life. 

“It’s no interesting story, really. I made partner and thought that I probably should at least try all the classes we offer, and yoga just stuck with me.” 

They slide into the booth. While Louis sits down at the long side of the table, Harry chooses to sit on the short end of it so that they’re not sitting awkwardly next to each other but also not across from each other. It leaves the option for some sort physical contact open, and Louis can’t quite believe it. He’s _perfect_.

“Wait, hold on. You work at the gym?” Louis asks, a little taken aback. He can see the way Harry’s mouth forms into a surprised smirk. 

“I, uhm. Kind of _own_ the gym?” He says, biting down on his lips with raised eyebrows. 

“Stop. What? How did I not know that? I just thought you’re some kind of fanatic that spends every waking minute working out,” he admits, looking up from his menu to keep eye contact with him. 

“No, uh,” Harry chuckles, “not really. I started working there while I was in uni to get a degree, and I kind of became friends with my boss? And, you know, I eventually got promoted to assistant manager, then manager, then I made partner. He retired last year, so I took out a loan and now we’re here.” 

Louis blinks at him a few times, struck by wonder. “Wow. That’s impressive.” 

“I guess so. It was kind of luck,” Harry waves it aside, but he can see the light pink blush creeping up his neck. It’s so charming, Louis wants to die. 

After that, they slide into easy conversation about Louis’ work as a graphic designer, their families and the pros and cons of ordering dessert. 

By the time their lava cakes arrive, it’s dark outside and Harry’s knee is pressed into his under the table. He’s learned that his older sister, Gemma, lives in London and that he has a thing for Christmas movies and that he has the worst sense of humor – that Louis finds somehow endearing – and that his guilty pleasure is working out to 2000’s pop. 

“Are you telling me,” Louis gasps between two guffaws of laughter, “That you do burpees to _TikTok_ by Kesha?” 

“Nu-uh,” he shakes his head vehemently, “That song is reserved for crunches only.” 

It shouldn’t make him laugh the way it does. But he finds himself giggling away anyway. Maybe because it makes Harry flash his dimples and his green eyes seem to get brighter with his laugh. Maybe he just likes not overthinking everything for once. 

*** 

First dates are supposed to be awkward and nervous and somewhat dreadful. First dates should leave you on the edge of your seat, trying to impress and win someone over. And while that might have been accurate for the first twenty minutes of the evening, Louis doesn’t feel like that when Harry walks him to his apartment. 

“I really had fun tonight,” Louis says, soft smile on his lips, when they reach the front door of his building. “You’re a great blind date.” He leans against the wall and looks up to Harry’s face. 

He’s straight up beaming, dimples and all, and it’s so obvious and blunt and not subtle at all, Louis shakes his head a little and looks down again. This guy really does not care what others think. He thinks he might quite like it. 

“So. Does that mean I get to take you on a second date?” He asks, pushing his hands into the front pockets of his skinny jeans. 

“What do you think?” Louis claps back, eyebrows raised challengingly. 

“I’m thinking,” Harry starts slowly, like he’s still piecing the words of his next sentence together, “That you’ll really like my favorite bar” 

“Getting drunk on the second date? Way to go, Harold,” Louis replies, unable to hide the grin forming on his face. God, he shouldn’t be this gone already. 

“Oh, Lewis, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into” 

“’M looking forward to it,” he says and mentally slaps himself across the face. That was flirting at its worst. 

“I’ll pick you up. Wanna say Friday at eight?” 

And, God. That is in less than a week. Louis can’t blame him, though. He would have said yes even if he had said tomorrow. 

“Sounds good,” he nods. 

“Okay. Goodnight, Lou.” 

There are soft lips pressing a kiss to Louis’ cheekbone and a shy smile, and then Harry wanders off into the night. He leans back against the door, the spot where he kissed him heating up, and watches as he walks around the corner of the street. 

As he climbs up the stairs, he sends a text to Niall. 

_date went great. can’t believe i’m saying this, but thank you_. 

It’s only when he’s in bed later that night, trying to fall asleep, when he realizes that he never got his phone number. 

*** 

“You said we’re going to a bar, not to a laundromat,” Louis says accusingly. It’s Friday, and Harry had picked him up bang on time, and now they’re standing in front of a shopfront that clearly says, ‘The Washhouse’ and he can _see_ the washers and driers through the window. 

Even though Louis went to the gym on his usual times that week, he barely talked to Harry. It was pretty crowded and – call him superficial all you want – he didn’t really want to waltz up to him all sweaty and gross after a workout. 

“What can I say? I really love the taste of laundry detergent,” Harry blinks innocently at him as he holds the door open for him. Louis huffs but follows him inside either way. 

Inside, it’s exactly what one would expect upon entering a laundromat. A few rows of washers and driers with coin slots to put your money in, a laundry basket sitting on top of the last row, as well washing powder and dryer sheets. 

“Harry…” Louis starts but trails of when the latter walks up to a door that he suspected would leave to some sort of back room. 

“Come on, let’s go,” he says, holding the door open for him, once again. Behind the door, a set of stairs appear. 

“Are you trying to kidnap me?” Louis jokes, but he does feel strange about this. What the actual fuck is this place? 

“Yes, and then I’ll buy myself a mansion in the Beverly Hills from your ransom,” Harry deadpans and places a hand on the small of Louis’ back, guiding him down the stairs. 

The butterflies in the pit of his stomach flutter at the slight touch, and he rolls his eyes at himself. 

“For the record, I think this is very much creepy,” he states. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry nods along, completely dismissing Louis’ complaints. 

As they head down the stairs, he starts hearing distinct chatter and a swell of music and – 

“Wait. Is there actually a bar down here?” He asks in surprise. Harry smirks at him and opens the next door. 

“Hi. Uhm, I booked a table for two?” He then says to the waiter that is manning the front desk. 

“On what name?” 

“Styles” 

Louis can’t help but think to himself how, for one, an underground bar hidden behind a laundromat is absolutely genius, and how Styles is a ridiculous surname if he’s ever heard one. 

“Harry Styles, huh? That name sounds like you’re made to be famous,” he tells him as they follow the waiter to their table. 

“I’ve heard that one before. ‘Can’t figure out what I should be famous for, though,” Harry replies, pushing a stray curl out of his face. 

“I bet you’d make an a-star runway model. You know, Hugo Boss, Armani, Victoria’s Secret,” he jokes. 

Harry cackles loudly, and Louis’ heart basically stops. He’s dying to hear that sound again. 

“Victoria’s Secret. You wanna see me in lingerie, then?” He asks, and Louis feels his cheeks flush, blood burning underneath his skin. 

“Oh my _God_ ,” he whines, half-laughing, and buries his face in his hands. “I need a drink.” 

When he resurfaces, Harry is watching him, with that look on his face, like he’s deep in thought, with one corner of his mouth raised just a tad. 

The dim light of the bar breaks in his hair, throwing shadows across his face. His curls are, once again, framing his cheekbones and Louis feels the urge to touch them, to find out whether they’re as soft as they look like. 

“What?” Louis huffs, when Harry’s gaze doesn’t waver at all. He shakes his head a little, and then blinks rapidly. 

“Nothing. Drinks?” 

*** 

It takes one hour and twenty-three minutes for Louis to feel a little dizzy. He doesn’t exactly have a liver of steel and he hasn’t been drinking in a few months and the beers combined with Harry’s overwhelming presence in front of him is a deathly recipe. 

“Have you ever,” Harry stops for a second, pulling at his lower lip in thought, “Dine and dashed?” 

They’re in the middle of a round of twenty questions, obviously Harry’s idea, but Louis is playing along and it’s kind of addicting to get to know all those little details about his life. 

“Okay, so, one time, Niall and I –“ 

“Oh my God, no way! I’m on a date with a robber,” he squawks and points his index finger accusingly at Louis, who snorts. He pulls Harry’s hand down by his wrists and lets their hands stay like that on the slightly sticky table. 

“Listen to me, Harold,” Louis says, and his voice is only the tiniest bit wobbly from the alcohol, “We were in a hurry. And we left money and the table. But I don’t _think_ we counted it and it might have been not enough.” 

“I think I can live with that,” he drawls out, his curls bouncing as he nods a little too eagerly. “Next question.” 

“If you could star in any movie, which one would it be?” 

“Clueless,” his reply comes quick as a shot. He doesn’t leave Louis time to think of a response but shoots the next question instead. “Would you rather have endless money or endless love?” 

“That’s such a pretentious question,” Louis scoffs, “Money.”

“Money? But what about love?” He asks, and there’s a frown forming on his face. 

“God, you’re such a hipster,” he groans but smiles anyway. “It’s just – Love is cool and all that, but it won’t pay my rent or for my sisters’s university. It’d be nice not to worry about all that for once, you know?” 

Harry squeezes his hand, his facial expression growing soft again, “Yeah, I know.” He takes a sip from his beer and licks the residual foam from his lips. “We could share. I take love, you take money, and bam. We’re invincible,” he says, eyebrows raised in challenge, and. It’s ridiculous, really. How much he already likes him. How his stupid jokes make him laugh against his own will. 

“And bam?” Louis asks, soft smile playing at his lips. 

“Yeah. And bam.” 

Harry’s cheeks are flushed, and the collar of his shirt hangs lower than it’s supposed to be, and he’s got this electric look in his eyes. 

God, Louis really wants to kiss him. 

“No one’s holding you back,” Harry replies smugly which causes Louis’ head to snap up in surprise. Did he say that out loud? 

There’s a flutter in his chest at the look on his face, expectant with the slightest hint of nervousness. 

“Fuck it,” Louis mumbles, throwing all caution into the wind. He gets up from his side of the table and walks over to Harry, who turns to him, looking up. Cupping his cheeks with his hands, Louis notices how warm and soft his skin is underneath the tips of his own fingers. 

Harry’s lips fall slightly open right before Louis leans down to kiss him. He’s not quite sure if it’s only the alcohol, but something about feeling Harry’s breath on his skin and his lips and his tongue and his hands gripping Louis’ waist makes the floor underneath his feet feel like it’s made out of marshmallows. 

The problem solves itself when Harry keeps tugging him forward until he ends up sitting on his lap, hands wandering into his curls. 

“Hi,” he breathes when they break apart, green eyes twinkling even in the dim light of the bar. 

“Hi,” Louis replies and only gives himself the fragment of a second to take in everything that’s Harry, before he kisses him again. And again, and again. 

*** 

The next two weeks go by without Louis really noticing it, everything is mostly a blur. At work, he got a new commission with a big client, which basically means twice the amount of work he was doing before but in the same time span. Plus, he has to deal with the fussy representative of the company. Some days, he works until his eyes are burning from the harsh light of his laptop. 

Even though he and Harry constantly talk and see each other briefly at the gym, they haven’t gone out again. It’s not like Louis doesn’t want to, God, he’s dying to, but it seems like their schedules refuse to align. 

Niall, on the other hand, stopped going to the gym right after the second date, because he’s swamped at work as well. It’s weird not to see his favorite Irish bloke twelve hours a day. 

Someone is hitting the doorbell, making Louis groan. He submitted what he hopes to be his final design yesterday, and he was planning on not leaving his bed all day and wallow a little. So far, his plan is going great. He’s wearing his favorite sweatshirt and soft sweatpants and is on the second season of _Modern Family_ , wrapped in his blankets. 

The doorbell rings a second time, so Louis gives up and stumbles out of his bed. He scrunches his nose at the feeling of his warm feet hitting the cold floorboards. 

Tearing the door open, he’s taken by surprise by Harry standing in front of him, skinny jeans and some kind of floral shirt that shows obscene amounts of skin. And – shit. In the frenzy of working long hours and trying to stay afloat in between, Louis completely forgot about their date tonight. 

“Are you sick?” Harry asks him, voice showing signs of concern. 

Well. He probably looks like he’s sick in his tracksuit and flat hair, Louis can’t even blame him. In a sad attempt to fix his fringe and make himself appear more alive, he ruffles through his hair and rubs his skin. 

“No, I’m – Sorry. Just not feeling that great, to be honest,” he says and leans against the doorframe in order to do something and not stand there so awkwardly. He probably should have sent him a text. “I should’ve called you or something, I’m sorry.” 

“Oh,” Harry’s face falls a little, and the small smile on his lips does nothing to hide it. 

“I’m really sorry,” he closes his eyes for a second. He could get changed anyway and still go out, but he’s not feeling like it. All he wants to do is curl up in his bed and get back to watching Netflix. 

“You could come in if you want?” He hears himself asks and almost immediately regrets it, but then he sees the way Harry lights up again. 

“I get if you’d rather be alone, Lou,” he says, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ears. Which is when Louis notices that his hair is in two Dutch braids. It might be far-fetched, but he distinctly remembers telling Harry over the phone one night that he’s kind of in love with his braids. Louis doesn’t know what to do with this now. 

“Don’t be stupid. We’re supposed to be on a date right now. The least I can do is ask you inside, ‘s not your fault I don’t have my shit together.” 

“C’mon, everyone has a bad day once in a while. I get it,” he argues defensively. 

Louis rolls his eyes and hooks his index fingers through the belt loops of Harry’s jeans. “What if I want you to come in?” He presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, which is when he knows he’s got him. 

“Okay. But you can kick me out any time, alright?” 

*** 

“So, what’s going on?” Harry asks once they’re settled on Louis’ couch, a cup of tea in one hand each. 

“Nothing,” he sighs, “Everything. It’ just been a lot at work recently and – I don’t even know. I submitted that design I told you about yesterday, and I shouldn’t feel this pressured and anxious anymore, but I can’t help it,” he shrugs a little helplessly. 

“You know you’re great at what you do, right? You don’t need to stress yourself out about one client.”

“Have you ever seen a single one of my designs?” Louis asks, eyebrows raised in question. 

Harry rolls his eyes and nudges his shoulder softly, “No, but you get what I’m saying.” 

“I mean, I guess so. It’s just a lot sometimes. I’m sorry I ruined whatever you had planned for us,” he says. _For us._ He likes the sound of that. 

“You didn’t ruin anything. Are you hungry? I could make us something.” 

“Are you offering to cook in _my_ kitchen?”

“Louis, Louis, Louis. Never underestimate the value of comfort food,” he says, wagging his finger in front of his face. 

“Surprise me, then. Last time I checked my fridge was completely empty. A black hole, if you will.” 

Harry blinks at him, before he barks out a laugh. “That makes _zero_ sense, Louis.” 

It turns out that there were two frozen pizzas left in the fridge, plus parmesan and ham, and Harry managed to make them look like they came straight out of a restaurant. With food in his stomach, Louis actually feels a little better. 

“Do you want to watch something?” He asks Harry. They’ve been silent for a few minutes, and he feels the pressing need to fill the void with words or sounds. 

“Do _you_ want to?” 

Louis just looks at him questioningly, trying to figure out what’s going on in that head of his. Can’t he just answer a simple question with ‘yes’ or ‘no’? 

“I just feel like we should do something,” he says, feeling restless and twitchy underneath his skin. 

“Look. You’re not feeling that great, and I’m here because I want you to feel better. Stop beating yourself up so much, it’s okay,” Harry argues, and takes Louis’ plate from where it’s been resting on his knees and sets it down on the floor. 

“I know, I know. But I can’t stop feeling like – like I’m not doing enough,” he sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck. He hates talking about this, it makes him queasy and uncomfortable and the words feel like they don’t fit his mouth the right way. 

“Hey, look at me.” He can feel Harry’s fingers run through his hair, softly turning his head in his direction. “You don’t need to convince me to hang around or something, okay? I’m here, and you are enough.” 

Louis lets out a heavy breath, trying to put his thoughts into order. After, what, a month, of dating, he shouldn’t feel this way. He shouldn’t be falling this fast, but he can feel it happening every single second he spends around Harry. It’s terrifying, really. 

Harry’s watching him closely, eyes trained on him. “Okay,” he says quietly, nodding once. 

The couch squeaks a little as Louis shuffles over to Harry, wrapping himself around him and hiding his face in the crook of his neck. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles and feels Harry’s arms tighten around his waist. 

They stay like that for the rest of the evening, Louis wrapped in his tight embrace with Harry softly telling him stories from work and about his sister’s new cat. He feels like he might make himself a home of it, nuzzled into Harry’s shirt with hands running through his hair. He can practically feel the anxiety and stress leaving his body. 

*** 

“So. How are things with your hot date?” Niall asks a week after that, winking suggestively. 

“Good, I think. It’s kind of too good to be true,” Louis admits and thinks back to Harry staying with him until two in the morning, just because he was still feeling a little queasy. Or how he surrendered to a spider-man marathon last night and even provided snacks and let Louis yell at the TV in any volume he wanted to.

“Ugh, I can’t even look at you like that. All dove-eyed, it’s disgusting,” he pushes himself off the edge of Louis’ desk and grabs the file he originally came for. 

“I know,” he mutters, more to himself than to Niall. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He stops in his tracks and turns back to Louis, looking at him questioning. 

“It’s – I haven’t known him for that long, and it’s kind of scary how – how much I like him, I guess,” Louis stares down at his keyboard as he talks. 

“Have you told him that?” 

“No, God no. We’re not even officially together. And I will tell him, eventually. I just don’t want to jump into things.” 

Niall runs a hand through his hair and shrugs, “Just remember that it might be a good thing, okay? That you found someone who seems to really get you. Don’t overthink it too much.” 

Louis nods slowly and lets the words sink in. Niall has known him for years, and as much of a loudmouth he can be, he also understands the way Louis’ brain works. 

“Thanks, Ni. I’ll keep it in mind.” 

Ten minutes later, right after Louis submerged himself into the design he’s been working on for the last few days, his phone buzzes on his desk, jumping on the glass surface. 

His eyes flicker across the screen, where a picture of Harry grins back at him. 

“Hi,” he picks up, glancing through the glass wall that divides his office from the hallway. His boss isn’t exactly fond of personal calls on the clock. 

“Hi, Lou. You forgot your laptop charger at my place last night” 

As if he doesn’t believe Harry, he checks his bag, only to find an empty pocket where he keeps his charger. Great. His laptop is at twenty percent. He doesn’t even need it at work because he has a much better desktop computer there, but he uses it occasionally because he likes its trackpad better. 

“Ugh. Can I pick it up after work? I think I’ll be done around five,” he answers, pinching the bridge of his nose. That would throw off his entire schedule for the night. He was planning on going to the gym right after work, maybe get dinner with Harry or Niall and then be home in time for a facetime call with his mother. 

“No need. I’m kind of on my way to bring it to you right now. Your office is on the sixth floor, right?” Harry says. 

“Wait, are you already here?” Louis asks, already getting out of his seat and making his way to the elevator. 

“Yeah. It’s not a bad time, is it? I can drop it off with a colleague or something,” Harry scrambles, and Louis rolls his eyes. He reaches the elevator at the exact moment the doors slide open with a soft chime. 

“Hello there,” he says instead of conciliating him and hangs up, because Harry is standing right in front of him. He’s in a fitted black suit and a white button up, hair pulled into a bun. 

Louis can’t stop himself from sliding his hands under his jacket, the fabric of the shirt feeling smooth and glossy underneath his fingertips. He gets on his tiptoes and brushes his lips against Harry’s, ignoring the fact that he probably shouldn’t be doing this at work. 

“Hi,” Harry breathes, smiling contentedly. 

“You look fancy,” Louis notes and lets his hand run over the jacket once again to prove his point. 

“Thanks. I just had a meeting with the bank for that loan I told you about, so I can renovate the yoga studio on the second floor,” he explains. 

“Oh, right, that was today. How did it go?” 

“’t went well, I’d say. I only need to submit some paperwork and then I should be good to go.” 

Louis nods in agreement and Harry pulls out the charger, “There you go.” 

“Thanks, H, you’re an angel. My battery is about to die,” he says, and kisses his cheek as a thank you, just because he can. 

“No problem. Oh, and I also brought you lunch,” he says, holding up a stainless-steel lunch box. 

“Wow. You really _are_ a nineteen-fifty’s housewife,” Louis jokes, but he can’t help the feeling of butterflies going crazy in his stomach. 

“You only bring out the best in me,” Harry shrugs, then laughs. “Alright, I’m leaving. Your coworkers are already staring.”

When he turns around, there are multiple heads turned in their direction, watching with great interest. He rolls his eyes dramatically, “Okay, thank you, though. I’ll swing by after work and get a workout in.” 

Harry nods, “See you later, then.” 

Louis kisses him again, takes his charger and the food and turns around to get back to his office. His phone chimes in his hands with a text from Harry. 

_Oh how I hate to see you go but I love to watch you leave._

Louis snorts. Jesus, Harry is ridiculous. 

“You are terrible, Harold,” he calls over his shoulder in pretend annoyance. 

“Can’t help it,” he calls back, and Louis throws his head back, laughing. 

If he sways his hips on the way back a little more than usual, no one has to know. 

His smile is wiped off his face when Niall accosts him in his office two seconds later, throwing the door shut behind him. 

“What was _that_?” 

“Uhm,” Louis frowns, “That way Harry dropping off my laptop charger and something to eat? Is that not allowed?”  
“You _kissed_ him!” Niall accuses him, voice tumbling. 

And now he’s lost him completely. 

“That’s what people _do_ when they like each other,” he says slowly, and watches confused as Niall paces up and down the walls of his office. 

“Not when they’re dating someone else! Honestly, Zayn was sitting _right there_!” 

What the actual fuck. Louis barely knows Zayn, they talk at work events and get along, but that’s about it. 

“What has Zayn to do with anything?” 

Niall stops and turns to him, with a look on his face that he can’t even start to try to decipher. “You are _dating him_?” 

“Are you okay, Nialler? I never went on a single date with Zayn” 

“Of couse you did!” 

“No, I did not. The last time I talked to him it was because he was looking for clean cups in the breakroom,” Louis says. He has no clue what is going on. 

“But. But. I set you up on a date,” he splutters. 

“No, you didn’t. You set me up on a date with Harry. Harry from the gym? The one that literally _just_ came here? The one I’ve been talking about for the last couple of weeks?” 

“No, no, no. I set Harry up on a date with Liam! The same night _you_ had a date with Zayn!” 

Louis is about to lose it. Who the actual fuck is Liam and why was he supposed to go on a date with Harry? 

Something clicks in his brain. “Did you tell any of us who they were supposed to meet or what that person looked like?” 

“No, that would ruin the entire purpose of blind dates, Louis. But you know Zayn, so I figured you’d recognize each other. Same thing with Liam and Harry, they used to go to uni together.” 

“Oh my God,” Louis chokes out in disbelieve. This sounds very much like something out of a movie. 

“What?” 

“I ran into Harry in front of the restaurant. I’ve seen him around the gym, and you talked to him before that and then you said it’d be someone I know. We ditched that gross place you wanted us to go to – about that, what the fuck, Niall – and never went inside,” Louis says, putting the pieces together in his brain. 

“But, but. I thought you were talking about Zayn the entire time.” 

“I wasn’t. How did you not notice that?” Louis asks, mildly offended. Apparently, he did not listen that closely if he didn’t even notice that things didn’t add up. 

“I don’t _know_ ,” Niall groans, “Shit, how could this have happened?” 

“You tell me. Haven’t you talked to Zayn or Liam? They must have told you that no one showed up for their dates.”

“No, not really. We’re not that close, actually” 

Something in Louis breaks, and one second after that, he’s wheezing with laughter. The situation is so absurd. Like, what. Niall really is not good at matchmaking. 

*** 

“And then,” Louis yaps for air, holding on to Harry’s arm, “We went to Zayn and asked him about the entire thing, and guess what he said.” 

Harry shakes his head and shrugs, but he, too, is barely holding it together. 

“They’re dating now too! Like, they were sitting in that restaurant all alone with their dates not showing up, and apparently Liam got up and sat down with Zayn, and they bitched about us for not showing up, and ended up having a great time”

“Oh my God,” Harry runs a hand over his face, still giggling, “This sounds so fake” 

“I know, right? Like, imagine if we didn’t run into each other. I probably would have had the shittiest date ever – because, really, Zayn is nice and all, but he’s not my type” 

“’m glad you went on a date with me, instead,” he admits quietly and pulls Louis in for a kiss. He tastes like spearmint chewing gum and his lips are slightly chapped, and Louis presses his body closer to his until there’s not a molecule of air left between them. 

“Yeah, me too,” he breathes when they break apart. A second later, their mouths are connected again, and Louis tugs impatiently at Harry’s shirt. He shortly thinks about his talk with Niall, about how he needs to tell Harry what he wants from this and how he is feeling, but then Harry pulls his shirt off and starts fiddling with Louis’ belt, and Louis presses hot kisses to his jaw and his neck and that one spot above his collarbone that makes him squirm a little. 

Louis is about to unbutton Harry’s jeans as well, when his phone starts ringing on the kitchen counter. He groans and throws his head back. Karma really is a bitch. 

“Leave it,” Harry murmurs, but Louis shakes his head. 

“Can’t,” he pants, “it’s my mum.” He completely forgot about their scheduled call when he went home with Harry after going to the gym, too wrapped up in the way Harry makes him feel. Like every day is a sunny Saturday morning. 

“Okay,” he nods and wipes at his mouth, “Go pick up, then.” 

Shit. Louis might as well be in love with him. Every other guy would have pressed to ignore it, but not Harry. 

He scrambles over to the counter, belt clicking with every step. God, this is awful. 

“Hi, mum. Hold on one second, okay?” He says into the speaker, before he turns the microphone off and puts the phone back, face down. Harry laughs at him as he tries to make his hair look less disheveled and hooks his belt back in. 

“Shut up,” he throws in Harry’s direction, which only makes him giggle more. 

Louis takes his phone to the living room and curls up on the couch before he activates the mic again, “Sorry about that.” 

“No worries, honey. Did I interrupt something?” Jay smiles at him through the screen, and Louis glances toward the kitchen from where Harry is still watching him. He rolls his eyes at him, even though he is very obviously smiling, and turns back to his phone, “Something like that. But it’s fine.” 

“Where are you, anyway? This doesn’t look like your apartment” 

“Geez, when did you join the FBI, mum? I’m at a friend’s,” he says. 

“What kind of friend?” 

“ _Mum_ ,” he groans, and he can hear Harry’s cackle from the kitchen, which only makes everything worse. 

“You know, you could just tell me about your life, and then I wouldn’t have to ask,” Jay muses, and Louis knows she’s joking, but he also feels bad for not telling her in the first place. It’s just that he doesn’t know how to bring it up. 

“His name’s Harry,” he starts and looks in his direction one more time, “He’s pretty great, I think you’d like him. We’re not, you know, but. We’ll get there, I think.” Jesus Christ, talking in complete sentences isn’t his best skill, is it. 

But the fond look in Jay’s eyes is enough to make him forget about fragmented sentences, “That’s great, boobear. I’m happy for you.” 

“Thanks, ma.” 

They float into an easy conversation after that, about Phoebe’s and Daisy’s new school and the youngest set of twins’ newest skill and about Louis’ work and about Niall. It’s good to hear about the people that are so familiar to him, even though he feels oceans away from them sometimes. Manchester and Doncaster aren’t that far apart, but he’s so stressed and over-worked, he doesn’t go home that often. 

*** 

Later that night, Louis is lazily playing with Harry’s necklace, about to drift off to sleep, but Harry keeps twitching, startling him awake every time. 

“What are you thinking about?” He finally asks, and shuffles upwards a little so he can actually look at him. 

“Just. What you said to you mum? Not that I was eavesdropping, but I heard that part,” Harry admits slowly. 

“You mean about us getting there?” 

“Yeah” 

“Is that not what you want?” Louis asks reluctantly. He’s not sure whether he wants to hear the answer. 

“What? Of course, I want that. I literally told you that like a week ago. That, you know, you don’t need to try to impress me, because you’ve already got me. I just didn’t want to pressure you into anything, but then you brought it up, and,” Harry shrugs. 

“Okay, here’s the thing,” Louis says and sits up, “I really, really like you. And it’s terrifying, because I wanted to take things slow and see where they go, but. Something about you just makes me want to jump in and forget about everything else. But I can’t do that if you’re not a hundred percent on the same page. I’m a mess, Harry, you’ve seen it. I don’t want something where I have to keep guessing. I want something that feels safe. If you can’t do that, it’s okay, but I need to know.” 

“Louis,” Harry sits up as well and takes his hand, “I want you to feel safe with me. I want you to know that you can let yourself relax around me and that I’m all in, if you are. Because I feel like I jumped in right after our first date, ‘cause you’re different. I can’t even explain it. You just feel special. So, yeah. I’m on the same page, all the way.” 

Louis looks up at him, slightly surprised. “You are?” 

“Shit, yes. What do I have to do to make you believe that? You want it on a contract?” 

“I think that’s called marriage, Haz,” Louis smirks and leans forward to kiss him. 

“No contract, then,” he smiles, “but maybe an agreement?” 

“Jesus Christ, Harry. If you want me to ask you to be your boyfriend, just do so and please _don’t_ call it an ‘agreement’,” he snorts. 

“Louis William Tomlinson, will you be my boyfriend?” Harry asks, holding up a hair tie and grinning like an idiot. 

“You are completely insane, has anyone ever told you that?” 

“You love it,” he muses. 

“Oh my God. You are so cheesy. I’m breaking up with you,” Louis laughs and cups Harry’s cheeks in his hands. 

“You know, kissing me right after that statement is very confusing to me,” he says, biting down on his lower lip. It doesn’t hide the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

“So, now I can’t even kiss my boyfriend?” 

“No, no, no. You’re _obliged_ to kiss your boyfriend.” 

“Is that so?” Louis smirks, pushing Harry backwards until he’s horizontal again and straddles him. The way Harry’s breath hitches when he runs his thumb over his lower lip and grinds down just the _tiniest_ bit makes him feel absolutely on fire. 

“Shit, yeah,” he mutters before pulling Louis in, their lips crashing together. 

*** 

“Race me to your apartment and I’ll make you pancakes for breakfast,” Harry says, already picking up the pace. How the fuck is that man not out of breath after thirty minutes of running? 

“H, babe, you just made me run seven kilometers, I will not sprint now, not even for pancakes,” Louis yaps and speeds up his steps in order to keep up with Harry. 

“What about,” he pauses for a second and turns the corner to Louis’ street, “You’ll get a free blowie in the shower on top of the pancakes.” 

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” he says and takes Harry’s surprise as his chance to get a head start. 

Harry wins, of course. Good thing the agreement was based on Louis racing him and not Louis racing him and winning.  
“Oh my God,” Louis bends over, supporting his weight on his knees and tries to catch his breath, “I’m dying. God, this isn’t worth it. I’m not doing this ever again, Harry. I hate you” 

“You’ll be fine,” Harry snorts, patting his back. There’s sweat dripping off his eyebrow, Louis notices, and watches as he wipes it away. 

“I hardly doubt it. I need a nap,” he complains and unlocks the door. 

“Lou, it’s seven in the morning,” Harry laughs, and takes his hand as they’re climbing up the stairs. 

“That’s the problem right there,” he mumbles. His muscles ache with every step, and he’s so, so tired. But there’s Harry next to him, obviously thriving on the morning air, and he’s swinging their hands back and forth. And. Maybe getting up at the crack of dawn is worth it if he gets to see that happy look on his face. 

When Louis checks his phone that he left in the kitchen, there are two missed calls from his sister Lottie on his phone. 

“Weird,” he mutters to himself and taps ‘call back’. Lottie is as much of a morning person as he is, meaning that she will not get up any earlier than she absolutely has to. 

“Lou? Shower?” Harry asks from the hallway. He’s already on his way to the bathroom as Louis waits for the signal tone. 

“Hold on one second, I gotta call my sister back,” he says to him. A second later, he can hear the click in the line that signals that the call has been picked up. 

“Lottie? Are you okay? I’m sorry I didn’t pick up, I was on a run,” he says without waiting for a greeting. 

“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” His sisters voice comes through the speaker and he feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest. If she’s joking around, nothing too bad could have happened. 

“Yeah, yeah. Harry forced me to,” he shrugs. It’s not the entire truth. While Harry might have persuaded him to do it, his busy schedule over the next week won’t give him much time to spend with him or work out as much as he’d like to, so going on morning runs with him is a pretty good deal. 

Harry forces him out of bed at seven by relentlessly ringing the doorbell and makes breakfast afterwards before getting back to his gym to relieve the morning shift. 

“If you’re going on morning runs, you must’ve gotten it real bad,” she muses and Louis can feel his cheek flush a little. Good thing she can’t see him. 

“Anyway,” he drawls out, “What has you up so early?” 

“Oh, uhm. I wanted to ask you a favor?” 

“At half past seven in the morning?” 

Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Harry still leaning against the wall, watching him closely. “One second, Lots,” he says and presses his phone to his chest in order to muffle his voice. 

“This might take longer, babe,” he then says to Harry and kisses him quickly, “You’re going to be late if you don’t shower now.” 

“’Kay. Say hi to your sister from me,” he nods and presses his lips to Louis’ temple for a quick moment, and then he turns around. 

“Okay, I’m back. Spit it out, Lottie, what do you need?” He asks and settles down on one of the kitchen chairs. Down the hall, he can hear the shower being turned on. 

“I kind of had a fight with Mum,” she slowly starts, and he doesn’t really like where this is going. 

“About what?” 

“I was planning this trip to London with a few of my friends, but now Dan got Mum this spa retreat over the weekend, and she needs Fiz and me to watch the little ones.” 

“Okay,” he nods to himself, “What has that to do with me? You know Doris and Ernest can’t stay with me, I don’t have the space in my apartment, nor is it toddler safe. And what about Daisy and Phoebe?” 

“Please, Lou. You could come to Donny and watch them at home, you haven’t been back in _weeks_ ,” she begs, and Louis can perfectly picture her face, eyes big and round, mouth pulled into a pout. 

“Guilt tripping me is not going to work, bub. Especially not when you won’t be home,” he scoffs. It’s not like she’s wrong, though. He misses his family and he’s usually not one to deny any of his siblings anything. Shit, he let Lottie practice makeup on him on more than one occasion. 

“It’s just – I love them, right? But between working and studying there’s not really much time to hang out with my friends anymore, and I already watch them about three days a week while Dan and Mum are out. But I really want her to go to that spa thing, too. She deserves it, you know that.” 

“Let me recap. You and Fiz are going to be in London, so it’s just the twins, both of them?” Louis asks, rubbing his eyes. He already knows he’s going to do it. 

“Yeah. But Daisy and Phoebs could stay with Gramps and Nan if it’s too much for you. It’s only going to be Ernest and Doris,” Lottie explains.  
The noise of the shower stops, and Louis’ stomach starts to grumble. He’s sticky with sweat and so, so hungry and doesn’t have the nerve to resist his sister anymore. 

“Okay, I’ll do it. But you owe me,” he says defeatedly. 

“Thank you, thank you! You’re the best big brother, oh my God. Thank you!”

Louis smiles to himself at her cheers. He can hear her yelling, “We’re going to London!” to who he assumes is Fizzy. Harry emerges from the hallway, wearing a baby blue blouse with white polka dots, and his damp hair is coloring the fabric around his shoulders a slightly darker shade of blue. 

“Of course. Look, I’ll call Mum later today and convince her that it was my idea, so she won’t harp on you, alright?” 

“You’d do that?” She asks, voice colored in disbelieve. 

“Yes, now go call your friends. And have fun in London, yeah?” He says, a fond smile forming on his lips. 

“Love you, Lou,” she says. 

“Love you, too,” he says, and then turns to Harry. He’s looking at him with a curious expression in his eyes, and an idea pops up in Louis’ brain. 

“Fancy a weekend trip to Doncaster?” 

*** 

“And you’re absolutely _sure_ that your mother doesn’t mind me tagging along?” Harry asks for what feels like the thousandth time. 

It took little to no convincing for him to agree to come to Doncaster with Louis, which, really, shouldn’t have surprised him. First of all, Harry loves children, no matter what age. Second of all, Louis gets the idea that Harry might jump through a hoop for him like a circus lion if he’d ask nice enough. 

“It was my idea, and you’re my boyfriend, so,” he shrugs a little and glances over to him. He can tell that he’s nervous by the way he’s pulling at his lower lip and shuffles his feet a little. Louis returns his gaze back to the road, but not without pulling Harry’s hand into his lap, squeezing it. 

“I don’t know. I’d understand if she doesn’t want a stranger to watch her toddlers for an entire weekend,” he says and lets his hand slide onto Louis’ thigh, where he can feel the warmth of it radiating through the fabric of his trousers. 

“Stop overthinking this, babe. I think she trusts me enough to know I won’t bring a serial killer home,” he smiles, and he can see Harry nod a little out of the corner of his eyes. 

“I’m just – Your family means so much to you and I want them to like me, I guess.” 

“They’ll adore you. You’ve already got Fizzy and Lottie on your side because they’re able to go on their London trip now, and Doris and Ernest literally won’t care as long as you give them enough piggyback-rides, and Daisy and Phoebe will love you just because of your hair,” he explains, and he can feel the smile taking over his face. 

It’s not like he’s not nervous, though. Harry and he have been together for a month now, and dated a month before that, and he’s never brought someone home this quickly, but it somehow just feels right with Harry. He can’t explain it. 

“What about your Mum?” 

“She’ll love you, you can stop worrying. You know why?” 

“Why?” He asks, pulling his knee up to his chest and twists in his seat to look at Louis. 

“Because,” Louis taps his thumbs against the steering wheel, “you make me, like, really happy. And she knows that.” 

“You make me really happy, too,” Harry hums and squeezes his thigh. 

“So, it’s going to be okay, alright?” 

“Alright.” 

*** 

Before Louis rings the doorbell, he intertwines his fingers with Harry’s, and bumps their shoulders. “Ready?” He asks, to which Harry nods. 

The door swings open, and Louis only sees a flash of bright blonde hair, before his eldest younger sister hugs him so fiercely, he almost loses his balance. He lets go of Harry’s hand and wraps his arms around Lottie, rocking back and forth. 

“You’re the best, Lou,” she says when she lets go and he just shrugs a little. Behind her, he can already spot the rest of his family, complete with Jay holding Doris’ hand in hers, all eyeing Harry curiously. They all pretend they’re not, but Louis can tell anyway.

“Hi. This is Harry. Harry,” he smiles at him reassuringly, “this is my family.” 

And, not that he’s bragging, but Harry absolutely crushes it. He shakes Dan’s hand and talks to Daisy and Phoebe as if they’re adults and not just preteen girls, and he asks Jay to hold Doris and crouches down to introduce himself to Ernest, who’s hiding between Dan’s legs. 

Louis watches him and he _knows_ he’s nervous and a little self-conscious, but he hides it well. 

“Harry, I love your hair! Did you do that yourself?” Lottie asks, inspecting his braid. It’s a single French one, and lose strands of hair frame his face in the way Louis likes. It makes him look soft and like the first sunny day during spring. 

“Oh, yeah, I did. Thank you,” he smiles. 

Outside, a car honks a few times. 

“That’s us,” Fizzy declares, already grabbing her bags. Lottie follows suit, waving to everyone in the room. Jay follows them outside, throwing instructions and phone numbers at them to call in case of an emergency. 

*** 

“I left a list in the kitchen, just in case,” Jay finishes. She’s been giving Harry and Louis instructions for the past twenty minutes, about nap times and food prep and bath time. 

Louis rocks Ernest, who is clinging to his hip, a few times and says, “Mum, this is not the first time I’ve watched them, we’re going to be fine.” 

“Are you sure?” She asks. 

“A hundred percent. We’ll drop Daisy and Phoebe off at Gramps’ and Nan’s after dinner and put the littles down after. No spices in food and TV only after lunch, we got it,” he says, smiling. 

“Okay. But you can call me any time,” she says. Louis turns to Harry, who’s sitting on the floor with Doris, cooing at her. 

“We will, ma. Now go get your bags, and let Dan spoil you,” he says and presses a kiss to her cheek. 

“You’re both so sweet for doing this,” she says as she leaves the kitchen. 

It takes another thirty minutes to shoo her out of the house, but then the door shuts and Louis lets himself flop down on the couch, Ernest on his lap. 

“God, she’s such a mother hen,” he sighs, looking at Harry. 

“’Can’t blame her,” he replies, his eyes trained on Ernest and Doris that are playing with their toys on the carpet in front of him. 

“Right. I bet you’ll be one, too, one day” he chuckles, bumping his shoulder into Harry’s. 

“Yeah,” he says, and there’s this bright, luminous smile on his face, “One day.” 

Their eyes lock and it feels way too grave and too monumental given the fact that there are four children in the room with them, but Louis can’t help it. He can quite well imagine himself as a dad, and he knows for a fact that Harry’d be a great one. He knows that they haven’t been together long enough for that, but. He ticks all the boxes, is the thing. He’s kind and caring, and he respects boundaries. But he’s spontaneous, too, and funny in a way that has Louis clenching his abs from laughing too much. Harry doesn’t like to be dependent on others, but he knows when he can let go and trust people, and he lets Louis be the big spoon even though he’s smaller. 

All of this makes it incredibly hard for him to hold his horses, to not imagine what could be five years from now. Because he feels so safe with Harry and he knows he’s in it for the long run. He can’t think of a reason why he shouldn’t be. 

*** 

Harry cooked dinner, because, apparently, it is a well-known fact that Louis can’t cook for shit – or, as Daisy put it “sets everything on fire he touches”. Not that he really minded, though, because he got to play with his little sisters for a while longer before dropping them off at his grandparent’s house. 

They had strapped the younger twins into their stroller after that, and Louis pushed them as Harry held Daisy’s and Phoebe’s hands in his, skipping on ahead. 

His grandparents had shaken hands with Harry in a surprisingly civilized manner, without any jokes about his hair or his tattoos like Louis had secretly feared and welcomed him into the family. 

After bath time, wrestling the twins into bed and then attempting to clean the house, they fell into bed more exhausted than any workout could have make him feel. 

“How d’you think I did on the family front?” Harry asks, his face only inches away from Louis’. His childhood twin sized bed doesn’t really allow for more space between them, but he doesn’t really mind. 

“You did great, babe. No need to worry,” he smiles and softly pushes a curl out of Harry’s face. 

“Okay, good. I really want them to like me,” he mumbles in response, voice already fading into a murmur and Louis knows he’ll be out like a candle in less than five minutes. 

“I know. But I think they do. Especially since you made dinner and saved them from food poisoning,” Louis laughs softly, and the sheets rustle when Harry nods slightly and turns onto his other side, back towards Louis. 

Louis rolls his eyes because he knows that this means that the conversation is over and that he’s going to sleep now. He doubts that Harry knows he does this, but it pretty much happens every single night. 

Louis shifts closer, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist and breathes in the smell of his hair. He doesn’t miss the delighted sigh that escapes Harry’s mouth and smiles to himself.  
“Love you,” Harry mumbles as Louis presses a kiss to his shoulder blade. 

And. He freezes for the fraction of a second, they haven’t said that to each other yet. Sure, their actions made it pretty obvious, but still. He wonders whether Harry meant to say it out loud but comes to the conclusion that it doesn’t matter. 

“Love you, too,” he says, nuzzling closer. A wave of warmth emits from his heart and he can feel it take over his entire body. It’s true. Maybe it’s too soon, but he loves Harry. 

He’s so sure of it, everything else seems irrelevant beside that grave feeling. He loves Harry because he gets Louis, gets his moods and cravings for cinnamon rolls at one in the morning and his need for cuddles on a rainy day. Harry is so different from everyone else he’s ever dated. He feels so special. He always puts on his socks before anything else, and he tells terrible jokes, and listens to hipster podcasts, like, seriously. 

But he always makes him laugh, and he never leaves the room without kissing Louis. Cheek, temples, the top of his head or a quick peck on the lips – it doesn’t matter where, but he always does. And he sits through Louis’ favorite movies and lets him rant about his boss for two hours straight. 

Most importantly, he lets Louis be himself. And he lets Louis be there for him, too. He gives and takes, and Louis has never met anyone like him. 

So, yeah. He knows he loves him. 

*** 

Day two of babysitting turns out to be way harder than the first one. Daisy and Phoebe aren’t around to help them out when they can’t find something. In addition to that, Doris and Ernest have way too much energy and Louis and Harry are busy running after them for half the day. 

When Ernest starts climbing on the couch, almost falling over, Louis has enough. 

“We need to take these two outside, so they can run off their energy,” he says, hoisting his little brother up. Of course, he immediately starts wailing and kicking his legs in order to hit Louis somewhere, anywhere. 

“We could go to a park or something,” Harry says from where he’s sitting on the ground with Doris, playing with her toy cars. 

“Yeah, let’s do that.” 

*** 

“Ouch, Doris, let go! Lou? Help, please?” Harry looks over to Louis with an expression on his face that’s so desperate, it has Louis cackling at him. 

Doris has both of her tiny grubby hands submerged in Harry’s curls and yanks at them from time to time. 

“Stop laughing, I’m in pain,” he grumbles in Louis’ direction, making the latter one snort. He sets Ernest down anyway and walks over to Harry and Doris. 

“Come on, princess, let go of Hazza’s hair, yeah?” He coos softly, trying to coax her into weaken her grip on his hair. She turns to him with wide eyes, her shifting focus giving Harry the opportunity to pull his hair out of her hands. 

“Just like that, thank you. No more pulling at hair, you understand?” Louis takes her from Harry’s arms, who flashes him a fond smile. He bounces her a little, and Doris squeals delightedly as a wide grin takes over her face. 

“Thanks, babe. I already pictured myself going bald, not gonna lie,” Harry says and kisses Louis’ cheek. 

“I would have made you wear a wig, don’t even worry about it,” he replies with a smirk, and sets Doris down on the sand beside Ernest, who is already running a toy dredger over the ground. 

“Knew I could rely on you, love,” he says and crouches down beside the twins. The pet name makes Louis heart flutter, and he has to turn around and pretend he’s looking for something in the stroller in order not to get overwhelmed by the picture in front of him. 

Harry in his ripped jeans and floral shirt, sunglasses pushed into his open hair that’s falling loosely onto his shoulders, playing with his little siblings like he’s been there for their entire lives. 

“You make a nice family,” a voice Louis doesn’t recognize tells him, and his head snaps up, only to find himself looking at a young woman. Holding her hand is a little boy, maybe around five years old, and he’s wearing a Marvel shirt. Louis decides he likes him. 

“Oh, thanks. Those are not ours, though. They’re my little siblings, Doris and Ernest,” he replies and offers her a friendly smile. 

“Are they? That’s so sweet,” she says, waving to them. Doris blatantly ignores her, but Ernest waves his truck through the air in response. 

“Yeah,” he nods and forces himself to tear his gaze away from them, “We’re a bit young to have kids already, to be honest.” 

“Well, I had this one when I was twenty-three, so,” she shrugs a little and points to her son. 

Louis crouches down in front of him, “Hi there, young man.” 

“Hello,” he pipes. 

“Is that Iron Man? He’s so cool, isn’t he?” 

“Yes! I like ‘im way better than Captain America,” the little boy nods eagerly and looks down at his shirt. 

“Oh, me too. Can I tell you a secret, though?” 

He nods again and his eyes grow wide with interest and curiosity. 

“My boyfriend over there,” he points to Harry, who’s currently building a tower for Doris’ doll, “likes Captain America better. But we both know he’s wrong, don’t we?” 

“Yeah!” He exclaims and Louis smiles at him. He pushes himself up again and nods to his mother, who ruffles through her son’s hair before saying goodbye. 

“Who was that?” Harry asks, when Louis sits down beside him. 

“I don’t know. But her son roasted you for liking Captain America better than Iron Man, so he’s my new best friend,” he says seriously, and Harry rolls his eyes. 

“Not my fault Chris Evans is hot in tights,” he shrugs. 

“God, I hate you,” Louis slaps his arm, but can’t stop a laugh from escaping his mouth. 

“I know you love me,” he replies, scooting closer to Louis. 

He suddenly remembers last night, the way these words out of Harry’s mouth made him feel, how deliriously and utterly happy he was when he fell asleep, huddled against Harry’s back, and he’s not quite sure if Harry does too or whether even heard him say it back. 

He needs to make sure Harry knows, too. 

“Yeah, I do,” he says and lets his head rest on Harry’s shoulder. 

*** 

Jay and Dan come back around lunchtime the next day. Louis had already picked up Daisy and Phoebe from his grandparent’s house while Harry put Ernest and Doris down for their morning nap. 

Louis is in the kitchen doing the dishes and putting away the leftovers when he hears the front door open and the voice of his mother fill the house. There are squeals and laughter as his siblings make their way from the living room to the entryway. 

“Here you are,” Jay says when she comes into the kitchen a few minutes later, Daisy in her arms. 

“Hi, ma,” he greets her and wipes his wet hands at his jeans before he kisses her cheek, “How was your spa trip?” 

“Oh, it was great! I had this facial, and I swear to God, I feel like I’m ten years younger. And, Lou, you should have seen all the food!” She exclaims excitedly, and Louis loves the way her eyes light up. For once in his life, she doesn’t seem tired or exhausted. 

Not that she ever shows it, but she’s his best friend and he knows her better than he’d like to admit, so, of course, he always noticed. It’s good to see her like this. 

“Sounds like you had a great time, ‘m really happy for you,” he smiles at her, and she fondly rolls his eyes at him and pats his cheek. She’s the only person he’s ever allowed to do that. 

“We did, yeah. How were the kids? Not too much work?” She asks and grabs a wet frying pan from the counter, drying it off. Honest to God, that woman never stops working. 

“They were great. You know I love spending time with them,” he tells her. From the living room, he can hear Harry talking to Phoebe and he smiles at the sound of his voice. 

“And you and Harry?” She asks. There’s a nervous knot in his stomach. He could tell that at his family at least liked him, but Jay’s opinion has always been very important to him and now he can’t really place the look on her face. 

“I think he had a great time,” he nods slowly, “Honestly, I’ve never seen a grown man have so much fun playing house like he did.” 

Jay’s eyebrows shoot up at that. 

“Jesus, mum, no. Not like that. We’re not planning on eloping, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he shuts her down, and her eyebrows settle down in their usual spot again. 

“Harry just loves kids. Ridiculously so.” 

“Okay,” she smiles and puts the pan back in the pantry, “I’m just making sure all my babies are safe.” 

“I know you do. And I am, I promise. He’s a good one,” Louis says. He hates himself a little for not being able to stop his feelings from showing on his face, but it’s not like it matters anyway. Jay can read him like an open book, if he wants her to or not. 

“I can tell. You remember Brian?” She asks, and Louis is a little taken aback by that. Of course, he remembers him. It’s not like he would forget his ex-boyfriend. But, to be honest, he hasn’t thought about him for a long time. 

They were together for about a year, and after that Louis wondered how they’d managed to stay a couple for that long. They weren’t compatible, like, at all. 

“Yes?” He asks, frowning. 

“Whenever you were with him, you were quieter and less of yourself, you know? Like you were holding yourself back. I never said anything, but I noticed. And you’re different around Harry, too. But in a good way,” she explains and leans her back against the counter. 

Funny how he never realized that. He thinks about it for a second, then says, “So, you like him?” 

“Well, I don’t know him that well. I’ll always be wary of my kids’ partners, but I think I do. He’s polite, and kind, and,” she laughs a little, “he was willing to watch over my little monsters for three days so I could go to the spa, _of course_ I like him. I think I might be legally obliged to.” 

Louis shakes his head, laughing, and lets out a relieved breath. “I’m glad you do,” he finally says, when he feels like he’s been quiet for too long. And he is. Because he’s head over heels, stupidly, utterly and completely in love with that dork and he doesn’t know what he would do if his mum didn’t like him. 

*** 

“So, anyway, I’m _hoping_ that they will take that draft because then I could finally work on details and color, you know, and not just outlines or sample boards,” Louis explains to Niall, twisting his coffee mug in his hands. 

They’re both leaning against the counter of the breakroom, drinking coffee and bitching about their clients as one does. 

“Honestly, it feels like I’m wasting a year of my life with all that stuff, I hate it. And then they always pick the one I like least and then I have to stare at that fucking thing for _hours_ ,” Niall complains, and he nods along seriously. 

It’s not like he hates working or doesn’t like his clients, but they can be a little exasperating sometimes. 

Niall’s phone rings, and he rolls his eyes, grabs his mug and trudges back to his office. Zayn comes into the breakroom at the same time, wearing a white shirt under his black leather jacket, and nods in his direction as a greeting. 

“Nice color,” he points out when he catches a glance of Louis’ hands as he grabs a cup himself. 

Louis looks down at his nails. They are colored a dark blue, and it catches him off guard every time he sees his hands moving out of the corner of his eyes. 

“Thanks,” he says, “my boyfriend did them.” It was two days ago, and Louis was stretched out on Harry’s couch, watching a rerun of _Friends_ with him, even though he never actually liked the show. But Harry is obsessed with it, so he watches it anyway. 

What Louis guesses was out of boredom, Harry offered to paint his nails, and he didn’t have any ideas why he shouldn’t, so that was it. The coating of his left thumb is already chipped, and there’s a dark blue spot on the sweatshirt he was wearing when Harry painted his nails, but he doesn’t really mind it. 

“Harry, right?” Zayn asks, and Louis nods. 

“You know him?” He asks, intrigued. 

“Well, not really. Liam does, they had a few classes together at university, I think,” he says, and then stops for a second. He lets out a half-laugh before he adds, “I thought you were the biggest douchebag, you know?” 

Louis frowns, “Why?” 

“You stood me up that night, and then never said a word about it. Up until Niall cleared it up, of course. Like, I know now it’s not your fault and I’m glad you didn’t show because Liam is great,” he shakes his head a little, and his lips curl just the tiniest bit, “But I was convinced you were a dick.” 

And – right. Louis almost forgot about Niall’s absolutely horrible matchmaking. He still doesn’t quite understand how he didn’t notice that Louis went on a date with Harry instead of Zayn.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I walked into Harry in front of that restaurant and we ditched it because I don’t like it there. I didn’t even know he wasn’t supposed to be my date that night until much later. But I should have apologized then.” 

“No, no, it’s alright. I mean, things worked out, didn’t they?” 

Louis looks down to his nails again, the feeling of Harry’s soft hands holding his fingers in place still there when he thinks about it, and smiles. “I suppose they did.” 

“Glad you’re happy, Tommo,” Zayn says. His cup is full now and the coffee maker grumbles lowly, and he nods in his direction before exiting the breakroom. 

Louis himself stays back for a few seconds and stares at his mug. He’s trying to imagine what would have happened if Harry’s and his timing would have been just the tiniest bit off, he probably would’ve gone inside and sat through the most awkward date of his life with Zayn. 

Or maybe, it could have been nice, and they could’ve gone out again and again – but no. He can’t even picture himself in that situation. With Zayn of all people. Sure, he’s nice and not terrible looking. Actually, scratch that. Zayn is drop dead gorgeous, with his jet-black hair and tattoos and lashes that go on for miles, Louis won’t deny that, but he’s not his type. 

His type has green eyes and dimples when he smiles and braids his hair and smells like vanilla and the eucalyptus shower gel from the gym and has the most ridiculous butterfly tattoo inked on his torso. His type is obsessed with Fleetwood Mac and Van Morrison and all things yoga or pilates or whatever. His type makes pancakes for breakfast and goes on runs at the crack of dawn and only drinks white wine, no reds, because they ‘taste _too_ red’. Whatever that means. His type also loves children and babysits his boyfriend’s siblings for a weekend just because he’s asked to and only ever wants to be the little spoon and is incredibly touchy-feely. Louis has a very specific type. 

He shoots Harry a quick text on his way back to his office, telling him that he’ll swing by the gym after work to get in an hour of exercise. Harry replies within the next minute, _The reformer is waiting for you_. “In your dreams,” Louis mutters under his breath. There’s no way he’ll ever get on these machines that came straight from hell. 

*** 

His phone is buzzing relentlessly on the coffee table, and Louis feels a little dazed when he looks up from his sketching tablet. It’s the first time in maybe two hours, and now that he’s teared his gaze away, he notices how tired his eyes are. 

He leans forward and fishes for his phone. On the screen, a picture of Lottie and him is grinning at him, and he accepts the call. 

“Hiya Lotts,” he says and pushes the tablet of his lap, leaning back into the soft cushions of his couch. If Harry knew, he’d probably kill him for working from there. ‘It’s bad for your back, do you _want_ scoliosis?’, he’d say, and make him get up and work at the kitchen table. Which is littered with magazines and newspapers, so he’d have to clean it first. Hence the couch. 

“Do you have a second or am I interrupting you?” Lottie asks. 

“No, you’re good. ‘Been just finishing up some work,” he replies. He’s lying. He’s not _finishing off_ some work, he’s drowning in it. A colleague got sick a few days ago, but has important deadlines, so now he’s the one who has to clean up the mess. That’s not something he’d burden his little sister with, though. 

“It’s the weekend!” She exclaims, obviously horrified by the idea of working on a Saturday afternoon. 

Louis grunts, “I know, wasn’t my preferred way of spending my time either. But no work talk, what’s up?” He pushes himself up a little and puts the call on speaker, balancing his phone on his pulled-up knee. 

“Oh, nothing. Just haven’t talked to you in a while,” she says nonchalantly, and he can smell her bullshit from a million miles away. 

“No offense, Lotts, but you called me two days ago to ask me _how to cut onions_ ,” he says. If he had to pass the call on to Harry because he didn’t really know himself, no one has to know. 

“Yeah, well, but that was not actual talking, you know?” She’s scrambling for words, for something to say, he can hear it in her voice. 

“Lottie,” he says softly, “what’s going on? You know you can tell me, whatever it is.” 

“It’s – I, uh, got back together with Aaron,” she says quietly. 

He stops, frowning at the name. If he remembers correctly, they broke up a month or two ago, and Lottie was all over the place. Louis thinks he was the first boyfriend that really meant something to her. 

“You don’t sound too happy about it,” he says cautiously, not quite understanding what’s going on. 

“I don’t know,” she sighs, “I do miss him – or I did – and it’s a good thing, I think, but it feels a little weird.” 

“Weird how?” 

“I feel like it’s wobbly, you know? And like I can’t really relax?”

“I hate to say this, but this isn’t how relationships should feel like. Especially not in the beginning. You should have butterflies and go out for ice cream and want to spend every single minute with him. It shouldn’t make you feel unsafe,” he says slowly and starts plucking lint off the decorative pillows. 

“That’s easy for you to say,” Lottie mumbles, “Not everyone gets to have a perfect boyfriend like you do.” 

“Yeah, but I had my fair share of shit ones before Harry,” he snorts, “And he’s not perfect, no one is. No relationship is.” 

“Louis, he makes you breakfast every other day and you don’t even live together,” she argues, voice slightly pitchy. 

“Harry is great, and I love him a lot, and he does all these things for me that makes me think he’s a little insane, but that doesn’t mean we’re perfect. We fight, too, you know. Not a lot, but we do,” he explains. He hates fighting but he can be a moody little bitch and he knows it, and then someone needs to put him back into place, and that person often is Harry. He always calls him out on his bullshit. 

“About what?” She digs, and Louis sighs. 

“You really want to know, huh?” He never tells his sisters about problems with Harry. For one, because they aren’t really problems. They snarl at each other for a bit, and then usually talk it out. If anything, he only tells his mum about it. It’s just private, he thinks, not something anyone actually has to know about them. 

Last time was a little different, though. Probably because it was a real problem, still is, and not something dumb. Like, sometimes when one of them has had a bad day, they’ll snap, but it’s okay again after ten minutes or so. 

But two days ago, Louis had to cancel on Harry because of that work thing. Harry has some sort of school reunion back home, and they were planning to stay at his mother’s house over the weekend. 

And then Louis’ boss called him into her office on Thursday, dumping a pile of files in front of him. It wasn’t like Harry was mad, Harry is never mad. He’s grumpy sometimes, or even annoyed but never mad. He was more upset. Like, the soft green of his eyes turned hard and took a darker shade, and Louis could physically _see_ him clenching his jaw. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Lottie says, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

“It’s never the same thing, and sometimes it’s just stupid banter. But it helps, I think. It gets everything out in the open and you can actually talk about what you want and what upsets you,” he says and taps his thumbs along the seam of his sweatpants. He probably should call Harry and apologize again. For picking work over him. He didn’t really have a choice, but he surely could have tried harder. 

“So, what you’re saying is that even your fights are perfect,” his sisters voice comes out bemused and he knows for a fact that she’s raised one eyebrow. She got that from him. 

Louis huffs out a laugh, “No, they’re not. There’s no such thing as perfect, Lotts. Sometimes it gets really hard, but that’s okay. As long as you know that it’s worth it.” 

“And how do I know that?” She asks, sounding frustrated. His heart clenches slightly. All he wants for her is to be happy, and it sounds a lot like she isn’t. He tells her that, and Lottie scoffs. 

“I don’t know, Lou, that’s why I called! I don’t know what to do.” 

“I can’t tell you what you should do, honey. I can only tell you that you deserve someone who makes you deliriously happy by just being there, and if you’re this stressed about just getting back together with him, I’m not sure it’s the right call,” he says, “But if you think he’s worth it and you want to work on your relationship, that’s okay too.” 

“You’re not helping, Louis,” she groans. 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you to break up with him or anything! You need to figure that out yourself, but I’m here for you no matter what, yeah?” 

She lets out a long sigh, “Okay. Thank you, bub” 

“Always. You can call me any time, you know that, right?” He asks, just to make sure. 

“I know. Love you,” she says and then hangs up. 

Louis ends up staring at his phone that’s still balancing on his knees for about two minutes. He rolls his eyes at himself, and then grabs it, scrolling through his contacts until he finds Harry’s. 

For a second, he just looks at it fondly. Harry changed it from just _‘H’_ with a heart behind it to _‘Cheshire Cat’_ about a week ago when he wasn’t looking. Harry probably thought he was being funny, but it’s just plain awful and Louis has to suppress a groan every time he sees that name appear on his phone. He sometimes has trouble believing his boyfriend isn’t a twelve-year-old wannabe prankster. 

His saved contact picture is actually pretty adorable, he has to admit. It definitely takes away from his mysterious/cool image, but who is he to care. It’s a selfie with both of their faces squished together, and they’re both laughing, eyes bright. He kind of loves the picture. 

He presses _call_ before he can stop himself. It’s not like they’re still fighting, so he shouldn’t be feeling this antsy just calling his boyfriend. Still. 

“Hi, what’s up?” Harry’s voice is muffled and soft when he picks up, and there are a lot of voices and music in the background and, right. The reunion. That’s tonight. He didn’t actually forget, he just didn’t know it was that late already. 

“Hey,” he says reluctantly, “Am I interrupting something?” 

“Nah,” Harry says. “How’s work going?” 

“Horribly, I feel like my eyes are on fire,” he admits and presses the balls of his hands into his eyes for some sort of relieve, but it doesn’t do much. 

“You should probably take a break, babe. Read something, eat something, go to sleep,” Harry advises. The voices in the background seem more distant now, he probably walked away from the bigger groups. 

“I’ll just finish the outline,” Louis says. He definitely needs to stop talking about work, because that’s not why he called. 

“You know your boss shamelessly overworks you, right?” 

“Yeah, I know,” he rubs his eyes. He doesn’t know how to turn the conversation around, and he doesn’t want to bring their fight up again, but he still feels the urgent need to apologize. 

“You could always quit. I’m looking for a new yoga instructor anyway, bet you’d do a great job,” Harry jokes and Louis laughs at it. He tried yoga once, and only because Harry asked him to, and not only did he suck at it, Harry also spent the entire time laughing at him. 

“I think it’d bankrupt your gym, honey,” he says, smiling. “Listen, uh. I wanted to make sure you know that I want nothing more than to be with you right now, and I’m sorry work came in-between.” 

“Louis, baby, I told you it’s okay. We are okay. You don’t need to worry. Sure, I really want you to meet my family, especially since I met yours ages ago and my mum is starting to think I made you up. And yes, I wanted to show off my hot boyfriend at this reunion thingy, sue me. But I know your work is important to you, no matter how much you complain about it. And you’re already stressed like ninety percent of the time, and I’m not trying to add more stuff onto your pile of things to do,” Harry says, and his voice seems delicate over the speaker, like he’s trying to pick the perfect word. It’s stupid, they just saw each other yesterday, but Louis already misses him. 

“You’re not stressing me out. Shit, I didn’t want to make you feel like you are,” he groans and rubs his face. He’s tired, and his skin feels numb, and he needs Harry to know, to understand. 

“You should be my priority, and you are. I’m sorry I’m always so busy, I promise I’ll be better. And I really want to meet your family, too, even though it scares the shit out of me because your sister seems kind of terrifying and I love you so fucking much, and I need them to like me because – I just do. And I’m _this_ close to get in my car right now and drive up to Holmes fucking Chapel, because I feel miserable without you and I’m tired and I miss you and I know that’s stupid, but still. And I know you’re at least somewhat sad or upset that I’m not there, and – Shit, I’m rambling, I’m sorry,” the words just stumble out of him and he has no control over them. He presses his eye shut. This couldn’t have gone any worse. 

“Hey, hey, Lou, babe, it’s okay. I love you too, and you need to get some sleep and we can talk as soon as I’m back,” Harry replies softly, and Louis’ entire body is aching with how badly he wants to be next to him. 

“Okay,” he breathes. Harry tells him, once again, to go to bed soon, and then hangs up. 

It’s a quarter past eight, and Louis hasn’t eaten anything in six hours and on a rational basis he knows that Harry is right, but he isn’t being rational right now. 

It’s a forty-five-minute long drive to Holmes Chapel, and before he actually makes his decision, he’s already jumped up from the sofa and is picking up stuff he needs to bring with him. 

He knows that Harry is wearing a suit, he watched him try it on three days ago, perched on the armchair in Harry’s bedroom, but he neither has the nerve nor the time to pick out a suit and iron a shirt right now. Instead, he settles on skinny jeans and a ridiculous blue _blouse_ that Harry got him from his last shopping trip. The short sleeves are too cold for late October, but he couldn’t give a single shit right now. 

***

It’s a miracle that Louis arrives in front of Harry’s old school without a scratch, he drove like a maniac. Harry would kill him if he knew, so he’s just not going to tell him that. He scrolls through his e-mails, looking for the invitation that Harry forwarded to him two weeks ago. He found the school without a problem on google maps, but he still needs to figure out _where_ the reunion is inside of the school. 

He could call Harry, which would make things a lot easier, he thinks as he gets out of the car and locks it. But that would take away from the surprise and Louis likes to be a _tiny bit_ dramatic and there’s nothing that can be done about it. 

It turns out that it’s not _that_ hard to find the right room, he just has to follow the sound of music and voices to the gym. Inside, it looks exactly like Louis remembers his prom. There are spangled blue and silver festoons hung across the long side of the gym, and there’s a row of desks aligned underneath it that caters as some sort of buffet. There also is a stage on one side, but no one is playing the instruments on it. Instead, there’s a 2000s pop playlist playing, and he immediately thinks about how Harry sings a weirdly acoustic version of _Call Me Maybe_ in the shower when he thinks Louis is still asleep. 

He dimly remembers Harry telling him about how they’re mimicking their own prom, which explains the setup and all the women weird wide dresses in every color there is. 

He scans through the crowd of people and jumps out of the way of children that are running around – seriously, who brings children to this sort of thing – until he spots Harry. Honestly, he should have found him way sooner, he’s wearing a violet suit with a black shirt underneath it, and he’s so vibrant, it’s like there is a spotlight on him. He’s talking to a handful of people, none of which Louis recognizes. 

He blazes his trail through the people, some of which look at him with a scrunched-up nose, probably trying to figure out whether he went to school with them or not. 

“… and then she said, Ryan, you need to back down, in this high-pitched voice, do you remember?” He hears Harry saying when he gets closer, and then an awful imitation of what is probably supposed to be a woman’s voice. 

“Oh my God, I completely forgot about that,” someone else laughs, a young woman with gorgeous blonde curls, and Louis thinks he might have seen her on a picture before. 

He’s now close enough to touch Harry, and he definitely did not think this through. What is he supposed to say now? _I know I said I had to work but look at me, I’m not_? 

He settles for “Sorry I’m late” and it only comes out a little croaked. 

At the touch of his hand on his shoulder, Harry spins around, eyes wide. 

“Lou? What are you doing here?” He asks and pulls him in for a hug. 

“You told me you wanted to show off your hot boyfriend, so. Also, I’m _hoping_ to hear embarrassing stories about baby Harry,” he says cheekily, but doesn’t bother to hide the fond smile that is tugging at the corners of his mouth. He softly strokes Harry’s cheeks as he rolls his eyes. 

“We can tell you a lot of those,” the girl chimes in, and Harry turns back around to her, shooting her a warning glance. She ignores it. “Hi, I’m Harriet,” she says to Louis, and he snorts at it. _Harry and Harriet_. Almost too good to be true. 

“I know, I know,” she grins, “I’m guessing you’re Louis?” 

“The very one,” he says, smiling and shaking her hand. Harry bumps his shoulder against, his smile so bright, it’s blinding. 

The guy to Harriet’s left introduces himself as Ryan, and they keep on talking about their schooldays, but Louis doesn’t really mind. He leans into Harry’s side, relaxing in the feeling of his left arm wrapped around him. 

“You look good,” he says quietly, “Can’t believe I almost missed you wearing that suit.” 

“Can’t believe you’re wearing short sleeves in _October_ ,” Harry replies and squeezes his waist. 

“I didn’t exactly have time to plan an appropriate outfit, Styles,” Louis grunts, but he doesn’t mean it. 

“If you look like this after working for who-knows how long, you’re clearly God’s favorite,” he says, and Louis makes a point of rolling his eyes dramatically. 

“Piling it on, aren’t we?” He teases and leans up to kiss Harry’s cheek. His skin his smooth, and he smells like shaving cream. 

*** 

“Tell me again why you’re here? I _told you_ that it’s okay,” Harry says. They’re standing in front of the gym, the cold autumn breeze causing Louis to shiver a little. He could’ve at least brought a jacket. Harry’s back is leaned against the handrail, and Louis is standing in front of him, hand on his waist. 

“A grand romantic gesture?” he supplies, which only earns him a stern look. He’s being serious, then. 

“To prove my point, I guess. Lottie called about relationship advise and I talked about how you have to make sacrifices or something in a relationship to make it work, so the other person knows you care. And it made me realize that,” he frowns a little, “that I don’t always do that. Like, I put my work first when I promised you something, and you always go out of your way to make me happy, and you deserve the same thing.” 

Harry pushes his hair out of his eyes, his curls are especially shiny today, and then says, “You don’t need to prove to me that you love me and care about me.” 

“But I do,” Louis exclaims, and some people around them turn to see what’s going on. He lowers his voice again, “I do, and I want to. Fuck work, fuck everything else, Haz. You’re so, so important to me, and I’d hate myself if I ever messed this up. So let me do these things for you, okay?” 

Harry’s hands cup his cheeks, and he nods slowly, “Okay. Thank you for ditching work and driving up here. You’re kind of insane.” 

“I know,” Louis whispers and leans in to kiss him. His body radiates so much warmth, it reminds himself of how cold he is, and how cold the air around him is, and he wants to climb into Harry and soak up all his warmth. 

“Babe, you’re _freezing_ ,” Harry murmurs, running his hand along Louis’ arm. 

“I kind of didn’t bring anything but my keys and my phone,” he admits. 

“I can’t believe you, Louis Tomlinson. Something is very, very wrong with you,” he says, and shrugs off his suit jacket before he holds it out to him. 

“Or maybe I just wanted to snatch you jacket, I look better in it anyway,” he says as he puts it on. It’s warm, for starters, and way too big, he must be looking like he’s drowning in it. But it smells like Harry’s vanilla perfume and his aftershave and when he crosses his arms in front of his chest, he feels at home. 

“Yeah, you do,” Harry says softly, and Louis smiles up at him, feeling drunk on happiness. 

*** 

Louis wakes up because someone is kissing his neck, and as nice as it feels, it’s too early in the morning, so he tries to push the head away. 

“Hmpf,” he grunts, and Harry laughs at him. 

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he whispers, and his face is hovering inches above his own when Louis opens his eyes. 

“Mornin’,” he mumbles back, but lets Harry kiss him anyway, morning breath be forsaken. 

“Wanna go on a run with me?” He asks when he backs away a little. 

“Why are you like this?” Louis groans in response, “Only you would get back home tipsy at two and then demand to go on a run at arse o’clock in the morning.” 

It’s true. Harry probably didn’t realize that as opposed to his actual high school prom, no one was giving out mocktails last night. Which resulted in Louis driving them to Harry’s childhood house, trying to understand the mumbled directions from him and then having to drag him up the stairs. Tipsy Harry is a force to be reckoned with. 

“It’s a no, then?” 

“I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. Did you forget I didn’t bring anything else to wear? And if I didn’t pack fresh socks, I most certainly didn’t pack my running shoes.” 

Harry flops down next to him, sighing exasperatedly, “Fine. I guess I’ll stay here in bed with you then.” 

“You’re full of shit, Styles,” Louis laughs, and pushes him away again. He sits up instead, taking in Harry’s childhood bedroom. It was dark when they got here last night, and he was busy heaving his ten-thousand-pound boyfriend into bed. 

His fancy suit is laying on the ground in a pile, as well as Louis’ shirt and his jeans. He just stripped down and slept in his boxers, because he was exhausted and it’s not like they usually sleep in pajamas anyway. 

There’s a bookshelf in one corner, and a desk in front of the window, both filled with stuff that probably got dumped there due to lack of space for it anywhere else. But he can perfectly picture a sixteen-year-old Harry sitting there, cramming for exams or doing homework. 

Above the bed are pictures taped to the wall, and Louis thinks he recognizes some of the people on it from last night, especially that Harriet girl and her friend, Ryan. They look different on those pictures than now, certainly 90’s kids with frosted tips (Ryan), crimped hair and low-waisted jeans (Harriet) and chunky sneakers (Harry). 

And even though Louis has seen pictures of Harry in his teens before, these ones just knock him out. Harry at fifteen to seventeen was just all messy curls and dimples and always seeming absurdly happy, and he should be laughing at these pictures, but he can’t help but swoon over how adorable Harry was. 

“I knew I should have taken those pictures down,” he says and hugs him from behind, pulling him back into the bed. Louis lets him. 

“No, don’t do that. I love them,” he says but his words come out smushed because he’s nuzzled into the crook of Harry’s neck. 

“You say that now, but I know with certainty that you’ll make fun of the Scooby-Doo one at some point,” Harry laughs and presses a kiss to Louis’ temple. 

“Your mistrust in me astounds me,” he replies dramatically and clasps his hands over his heart in fake shock. 

“No, I just trust I know you well enough to predict what’s going to happen,” he argues with a grin on his lips and brushes Louis’ hands away. Propping himself up on his elbows, he musters his face for a second before he leans in and kisses him. 

Kissing Harry is his favorite thing on this entire planet. Sure, everything else is just as great and he’s obsessed with his entire body, but there’s something about his lips and his tongue that makes Louis lose his mind in the best way possible. 

It’s like he’s floating, his brain no longer connected to the rest of his body. Right now, Harry still tastes like sleep and his skin is warm underneath his fingertips as he lets his hands fall to his waist. 

A soft noise escapes Louis’ mouth when Harry tugs at his hair and deepens the kiss, and Louis pulls him even closer, as close as possible. 

Beside them, a phone chimes with multiple texts and Louis _knows_ it’s his, and he tries to ignore it, because Harry is basically laying on top of him, heavy and warm and he wants nothing more than to map out every inch of him (even though he has already done that thousands of times) but it chimes again, and his thoughts snap from all things Harry to all things work and the unfinished draft on his tablet in his apartment in Manchester, and he feels a little panicked that it might be his boss with more instructions, so he turns his head away and pats down the mattress for his phone. 

Harry makes a very displeased noise when their lips disconnect, but settles on covering Louis’ neck with butterfly kisses, short brushes of hot lips against his skin that make him shudder as he thumbs at his phone. 

He lets out a relieved sigh when he sees that it’s not his boss. God, he needs to stop being so anxious and fidgety all the time about work. He’ll finish in time and everything will be fine. 

“Who is it?” Harry asks in-between kisses. 

“Lottie. She’s asking me why I’m here and not home,” he replies, frowning at the texts in front of him. How exactly does she know that? Last time he spoke to her he was convinced he’d spend the weekend sulking and working. 

“No offense, but your sister is really good at cockblocking,” Harry says. 

“What?” Louis asks and scrunches up his face in confusion. Sometimes Harry says such weird stuff, it takes a little for him to wrap his head around it. 

“I’m just saying that she has a tendency to text or to call whenever we’re, you know, making out, or already halfway into the shower, or –“ He starts explaining, but Louis cuts him off, laughing. 

“Yeah, I bet she’s doing that on purpose” 

“I never said that!” Harry says, pouting, and Louis brushes his lips against his quickly. 

“Plus, if you thought I was letting you have sex with me in your childhood bedroom while your mother – whom I haven’t even _met_ – is probably downstairs, you were very, very wrong,” he adds, and he catches the moment Harry’s dimple pops. He pokes it, and then returns to his phone. 

A quick check of Instagram proves his assumption. Harry posted a picture of them from last night, and the time stamp says 8:07 a.m. He probably uploaded it when Louis himself was still sleeping. On the picture, they’re standing in front of the buffet, Harry’s arm wrapped around Louis’ waist and he’s fixing his collar for him while Harry laughs at something someone else said. He doesn’t know who took the picture, but it’s pretty perfect. 

Louis never knew he looked at Harry like that. God, he never even knew that his face could even _do_ that. It’s sort of scrunched up, and his lips are pulled into a small smile and his eyes are soft, softer than they ever seem when he looks into a mirror. 

He looks absolutely ridiculous. And whoever looks at that picture will immediately know that he’s stupidly in love with Harry. He doesn’t mind. 

“Hey, H?” He says and puts his phone away without texting Lottie back. 

“Yeah?” 

“I love you.” 

“Love you more,” he replies, voice gentle, and then kisses him again. 

*** 

In the end, it takes them about twenty more minutes to get out of bed and dressed. 

When they walk down the stairs and into the kitchen, it smells like coffee and toast, and he can hear the voices of Anne and Robin chatting from a few steps away. Nervousness bubbles up in Louis’ stomach, like he’s on top of a rollercoaster, about to race toward the ground at a million miles per hour. He looks down at himself self-consciously. 

He’s wearing the jeans from yesterday and an old hoodie from Harry, grey with the word ‘damn’ plastered across the chest. It’s, once again, way too large and does not feel appropriate for meeting your parents-in-law for the first time. 

“You’ll be alright,” Harry assures him and places a hand on the small of his back, gently pushing him towards the kitchen. 

Anne and Robin turn around when they enter, looking up from their respective plates and a shared newspaper. Anne gets ups first, ignoring Louis’ held out hand and hugging him instead. Okay, he can deal with this. It’s going to be okay. 

“Hello, dear. I’m so happy to finally meet you! Did you get here alright last night?” She asks when she lets go, and Louis nods. 

“Me too, and the drive was fine. Thank you for having me, even though it was a little spontaneous,” he says and wipes his hands at his trousers. 

“Oh, stop it! You’re always welcome here,” she says and then starts fussing over the stove again, loading two plates with breakfast and filling cups with tea and coffee. 

“Good morning, son. How are you?” Robin says, smiling at him over the brim of his newspaper. It’s the sport part, Louis notices. 

“I’m good, yeah. It’s a shame Man U lost last weekend, isn’t it?” He replies. 

Robin nods and sets the paper down, “Horrible, really. I was there, and let me tell you, it was the most depressing thing I’ve witnessed all year.” 

Louis learns that Robin and his friends all have season tickets for Manchester United, and the next thing he knows he’s invited to come along with them, because Harry never does – which is a shame, according to Robin. Louis doesn’t mention that his heart primarily beats for the Donny Rovers, he has an inkling that it would put a damper on his newly acquired relationship with his boyfriend’s stepfather. 

“Harry, honey, when are you planning to head back? There’s something wrong with garage door, it won’t close all the way and I thought you could take a look at it,” Anne chimes in while she sets down plates in front of them. 

Louis’ stomach churns hungrily at the sight of food, and he thanks her with a smile on her face. She waves him off. 

“Uh, I don’t know. I was planning on showing Lou around town and then drive back around lunch or something, I need to check up on the renovation in the gym,” Harry replies, already stuffing his face with toast and marmite. He squeezes Louis’ thigh under the table, reassuringly. 

“Oh, but I thought you said you wanted to stay for tea?” Anne asks, and Louis is fully aware that the reno-works were completed last week, and Harry is only trying to get him home as soon as possible so he can finish his work. He bites down on his lip in order to hide his smile. 

“I’ll come back sometime next week and fix the garage door, okay?” 

*** 

“Hey, Lou. Louis, Lou, babe, Louis” 

It takes all of Louis’ energy not to throw a pillow at Harry and stay still. 

“Come on, I know you’re not sleeping,” he says, jabbing at his bicep that’s curled around his pillow. 

_Maybe_ if he just doesn’t move at all and keeps his breathing even, Harry will leave him alone soon. It’s after midnight, and Louis is so, so tired but Harry is like a toddler that had sugar after five in the afternoon. 

“Louuuuu,” he drawls out in a whine, and okay. Seems like he’s not going to leave him be anytime soon. 

“Go to sleep,” he mumbles, slapping blindly in the direction Harry’s voice is coming from. He hits him in the chest, and Harry grabs his hand before he can pull away. 

“Louis. Do you know what day it is?” 

“Tuesday. Let me sleep,” he grumbles, giving up at trying to free his arm but rests it on Harry’s stomach instead. 

“But it’s also the first of December,” Harry says and when Louis doesn’t reply, he adds, “Do you know what that means?” 

“ _What._ ” 

“It’s now completely acceptable to bake Christmas cookies.” 

Louis groans and then laughs, but it sounds a lot like crying because it’s too hysteric, “I’m not baking cookies with you at one in the morning.” 

“Please, Lou?” 

“No,” he says, and turns away from him, nuzzling back into his pillow. But it’s useless, because the warm comfortable feeling from a minute ago is gone, and he can basically _feel_ Harry pouting. 

“I hate you so fucking much,” he groans as he throws back the blanket and picks up a hoodie from the armchair beside the bed, pulling it over his head. 

“Love you too,” Harry says, beaming, and trails after him into the kitchen. 

“One tray, and then we go back to bed,” he grumbles, switching on the lights. They’re too bright for his tired eyes, and he squints them shut. 

*** 

The handles of the drawers Louis is leaning against dig uncomfortably into his back und the cold radiating from the floor seeps through the fabric of his sweatpants, and he’s got his eyes closed, and has he mentioned he’s tired? Because he is. Completely exhausted. 

Harry sinks down next to him with a yawn and Louis lets his head fall onto his shoulder, and he can feel him press a kiss to the top of his head. 

“Twenty minutes and they’ll be ready,” he says in a low voice, and Louis just nods. There isn’t much energy left in him to do anything else. 

Harry intertwines their hands, and when Louis opens his eyes, their anchor and rope tattoos align perfectly. He raises their hands to his mouth and kisses Harry’s. 

They got the tattoos last week, and merely looking at it makes his heartbeat speed up enough for him to feel every single beat of it. Niall had given him a doubtful look when he showed him and he could tell that he thought it was ‘too soon’ for matching tattoos, but Louis couldn’t be bothered to give a single shit. 

He loves the tattoos, and he loves Harry, even if he forced him out of bed in the middle of the night to bake cookies. Or, maybe that’s exactly why he loves him. And he knows that this it _it_ , that this is what he wants for the rest of his life. 

“Hey, Lou,” Harry says, and Louis turns his head to look at him. He’s got flour in his eyebrow and dried dough underneath his left eye, and Louis wipes it away with his thumb. 

“Hm?” 

“What would you say if I cut my hair?” 

Louis raises an eyebrow. “I’d divorce you.” 

He loves Harry’s hair. He loves how it long it is, and how the curls jump when you pull at them and he loves when Harry braids it, in any way possible. And he loves the smell of his conditioner, although it makes the shower all slippery. 

“We’re not married,” Harry points out and pulls their hands into his lap. His stretched-out legs are way longer than Louis’, he notices. Not that it’s any surprise, Harry is a giant, and Louis, well, Louis isn’t. 

“I’ll marry you, and then divorce you,” Louis says. 

“Fair enough,” he chuckles. Louis clears his throat, “Why do you wanna cut it? Do you not like it anymore?” 

“No, that’s not it. But it clogs the drain and it takes hours to dry and I kind of want to donate it,” he says. 

He squeezes his hand, “I’m proud of you. But I absolutely will hold a funeral for your braids.” 

“Oh, I’m not doubting that,” Harry smiles. 

“You know they were the reason I had a crush on you for like months before we started going out, right?” 

“Yeah, I think you’ve mentioned that before.” 

“Have I also mentioned that I used to call you ‘Pippi Longstocking’ in my head because I didn’t know your actual name?” 

Harry laughs and shakes his head, “No, you didn’t. Pippi Longstocking? Are you serious?” 

“Yeah,” Louis laughs as well and closes his eyes again, “I had it pretty bad for you. Still do.” 

“Yeah, me too.” There’s a pause where they just sit there on the kitchen floor, holding hands while the entire apartment starts smelling like cookies, and then Harry says, “About that marriage thing.” 

Louis sits up straighter, and grips Harry’s hand tighter. 

“I want that. But without the divorce,” he jokes, and Louis’ heart beats so loud, he’s afraid Harry can hear it. 

“I want it too,” he whispers, not trusting his voice enough to speak loudly. _So, so badly._

Harry kisses him softly, and he tangles his fingers into his still long hair. 

“I also want kids,” he says when they break apart, “Three. Two boys, one girl.” 

Harry raises his eyebrows, “Why two boys?” 

“Just because. I don’t really care,” he shrugs. 

“Okay. I can’t wait,” Harry says, and Louis has never seen that smile on him. It’s soft and gentle, but so genuine and he just wants to remember it forever. 

The alarm on Harry’s phone goes off, telling them that the cookies are ready, and Louis watches contentedly as he gets up and takes them out of the oven. It’s two in the morning, and he’s tired and cold, and he’s not quite sure whether what just happened counts as a proposal or an engagement, but there’s this warm fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach, and Harry picks the two ugliest cookies off the tray (burning his fingers) and hands one to Louis. They eat them still sitting on the kitchen floor, and it’s the first of December, and Louis is so happy, he might start crying. 

*** 

**Eight Months Later**

If Harry thinks he’s being smug with that whole proposal thing, he’s most definitely wrong. It’s not that he’s told on himself or blabbed, but he’s been weirdly twitchy and just _not relaxed_ for the past three days. And when one is chilling out in an expensive resort in Mexico, he certainly should be relaxed. 

While others might not be able to tell, Louis can. He knows Harry better than anyone else after all. 

And on their second to last day, he’s pretty sure it’s going to happen. First, Harry has been texting his sister all day and whenever Louis tried to catch a glimpse of his phone, Harry turned it off or angled it away from him or tried to distract him with something else. 

Then, there are these looks. He glances at him from the corner of his eyes whenever he thinks Louis is not looking. It happens at breakfast, and then when they’re basking in the hot sun beside the pool, and then when they order room service for lunch and take a nap in their air-conditioned hotel room, and then _again_ when they head to the beach and Louis is reading that book Harry bought him at the airport. 

It’s a young adult romance, and at first Louis wanted to smack his boyfriend across the chest for it, because it’s pretentious and sappy and just mediocre at best. But then he started to actually read it and he’s had trouble putting it down ever since then. He’s finished it now and is generally disappointed by its ending, but okay. 

And after that, Harry spent an unreal amount of time in the bathroom – longer than he ever did when his hair was still long. When he comes out, his nails are painted blue and he’s wearing a light, white short-sleeved button up that’s tucked into the front of his jeans. He looks absolutely beautiful, and Louis is about to cancel their dinner reservations, but Harry extends his hand out for him and he grabs it without thinking twice about it. 

The weird thing is that nothing happens during dinner. They eat and talk and laugh and get slightly tipsy off of mojitos. By the time they finish deserts – tres leches cake – Harry’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes twinkle with happiness and maybe mischief, but he still doesn’t move. Instead, he only throws Louis an expectant look from time to time. 

After they pay for their food and thank their waiter, they head back to the beach, and Louis has to fight the feeling of disappointment that’s rising in his gut. He hates it, it tastes bitter and burns behind his eyes. He loves Harry, and all he wants is to spend the rest of his life with him. And it’s not like he doesn’t know that Harry wants it too, because he _knows_ but he wants him to make it obvious, to say it out loud. 

After their midnight conversation back in December they decided to wait a little longer, because it was too soon, and they didn’t even live together, but now they do, and Louis doesn’t want to wait anymore. He wants him so much, it physically hurts some days. 

They sit down in the sand, and a warm breeze blows through their hair and clothes, and they’re touching from their shoulders to their ankles because they’re sitting so close together, and Louis just wants Harry to say the words out loud. 

He could ask him to elope then and there and he would say yes. 

After a few minutes, Harry grows quiet, too, and the only thing he can hear is the waves crashing onto the shore. 

“I thought you were going to propose tonight,” he hears himself blurting out before he even knows he’s talking. And, shit. He probably shouldn’t have said that out loud. 

Harry turns to look at him, eyes dramatically wide and mouth hanging open a little. 

“No way,” he says after a minute. 

“Excuse me?” 

“No, not – Shit,” Harry laughs and runs a hand through his hair. The first few days after he’d cut it, he always looked a little surprised when he did that and there was not much hair left to run your hands through. It was super cute. 

“I thought _you_ were going to propose!” he exclaims, and now it’s Louis’ turn to stare. “I was honestly waiting for that ever since we touched down. And then you organized this dinner tonight, and you were so nervous all day, and I just figured,” he shrugs a little. 

“You really thought so?” Louis asks quietly. 

“Yeah,” he nods. 

“Shit, we’re really bad at this, aren’t we?” He asks, laughing and Harry joins in after a second. 

“Hey, Louis?” He turns to him, and he’s smiling hard enough to make his dimples pop. 

“Will you marry me? For real, this time? I have no clue how to do this the right way and I don’t have a speech prepared because I thought you wanted to propose, but I just know it’s you. And maybe it’s always been you because you get up in the middle of the night to bake cookies with me and listen to every song I ever recommend and because you’re always there and you make me happy and make me laugh and all I can think about is growing old with you. So, uh. Louis William Tomlinson, will you do me the honor of marrying me? Is that even how you say it? Shit, I don’t know.” 

Harry is rambling, and he nearly falls over when he gets on one knee and Louis has to steady him with a hand at his hip. He finds himself nodding anyway, and then there are tears in his eyes and he’s laughing and flings himself at Harry. 

They topple over in the sand, and when Louis leans in to kiss him, it’s too rushed and their teeth crash a little and it’s sloppy and far from a good kiss. Louis thinks it’s perfect anyway. 

“Yeah, I will. Of course,” he says as he backs away a little, and Harry just kisses him again. And this time, it’s slow and tentative and it definitely tastes like mojitos. He can feel that there are tears on Harry’s face too when he cups his cheeks. 

And he can’t help but feel like this isn’t just a kiss. It’s a promise. A promise of waking up next to him for every day of his life, it’s a promise of utter happiness. It’s a promise of home, of having someone to come home to until they both retire. And it’s a promise of _this_ , of being stupid and useless together until the very end. 

Louis doesn’t care that he doesn’t have a ring, or that they’re both tipsy and that they both imagined their engagement going very differently, because there are all these promises in the air, and fuck him if it’s not all he ever wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed this, please leave kudos and a comment!


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